Night Is Nigh
by Jessica Roberts
Summary: A string of suicides may be more than they appear, prompting Nick and Tracy to investigate separately. Sequel to "Darkened Beings." Overlaps with "Last Night"


  
Disclaimer: I don't own the Forever Knight characters. I wish I did.  
  
*****  
  
Night is Nigh  
  
"Abide with me from morn till eve,   
For without Thee I cannot live;   
Abide with me when night is nigh,   
For without Thee I cannot die."   
  
-- "Evening" by Keats   
  
*****  
  
She couldn't take it anymore.   
  
give me your hot sticky sweetness   
  
The whispering hid just at the edges of her mind, hissing through the  
static of the mundanity of her thoughts. When it was light, she was safe,  
but when darkness descended, she went mad.   
  
delicious poison   
  
She knew what it wanted. It wanted her blood.   
  
the salty bestial taste of you   
  
She picked up the knife from the dish rack. It was sharp. She had honed it  
this afternoon in preparation. She had known that tonight was to be the  
night. It was time to give into the voice.   
  
let it spill on the floor for me   
  
She wanted to do as she was told. It was right to do it. And she really had  
no choice.   
  
feed my ache   
  
She knelt on the linoleum floor, her head thrown back. She lifted the knife  
to her bared throat and with a swift slash, plunged it into her jugular.   
  
yes   
  
The hot liquid pumped out of her neck and splashed onto the floor in front  
of her. She could smell the coppery scent of it.   
  
give me more   
  
Pulling the knife to the side, she carefully opened a wide gash across the  
taut skin of her neck. Her eyes glazed and the knife clattered to the floor  
as the blood poured over her breasts and thighs.   
  
good girl   
  
*****  
  
The bright flood lights lit up the house, eradicating night's shadows.  
Police swarmed around, moving in some intricate, patternless dance. Tracy  
picked her way through the crowd of onlookers and ducked under the police  
tape, flashing her badge at the uniformed officer who moved to stop her.   
  
She had been on her dinner break when she had gotten the call. Sitting in  
her new red Mazda Miata on the ferry docks, she hadn't been eating. She had  
been doing exactly the same thing as the other nights that she went there:  
staring over the Inner Harbor at the dark masses and tiny lights in the  
water that indicated the Islands. She stared at one spot, even though it  
was too dark to see it: a small plot on Snake Island.   
  
She could locate it from any place in the city of Toronto. She could feel  
its tug at her mind, even when she tried to forget it. When she awoke in  
the late afternoon, that was the first place her eyes looked. Staring  
through the brick wall of her apartment, she could see the brown dirt and  
dried grass covering it like a balding man's bad comb-over.   
  
Tracy pushed her way through the back door of the house and moved into the  
kitchen. Her partner, Nick, was crouched over a body on the floor, his back  
to her. His shoes almost touched the pool of coagulated blood that spread  
across the kitchen floor. One hand rested at the very edge of the red-brown  
stain, and when he though no one was looking, a latex-covered finger crept  
forward and poked into the pool.   
  
"Nick! What are you doing?!" Tracy exclaimed.   
  
Nick jumped up and turned toward her with a sheepish expression on his  
face. He hid his hands behind his back.   
  
"I've got my own way of telling the time of death. The way the blood  
feels..." he whispered. "They've already taken photos, so..."   
  
"You're really weird, partner," she said, shaking her head. Sometimes she  
really wondered if Nick was all there, she really did. "What have we got?"   
  
"It looks like a suicide," he answered, pointing to the knife. "More  
gruesome than usual, but there were no signs of forced entry or struggle."   
  
"It was self-inflicted," Natalie confirmed, coming up next to the two  
detectives. "The angle and depth of the cut indicate that, but it would  
have been very difficult to do."   
  
"So she was determined," Tracy said, suppressing a shiver as she stared at  
the corpse.   
  
You have to kill me, Tracy Vachon had begged her. She could see him in  
her mind: crouched on the floor, his eyes a feral gold. When she had  
refused, he had thrown himself on the stake she held.   
  
"Yep. There was no way she could have survived this," the brunette coroner  
said. "My best guess is it happened about 24 to 36 hours ago."   
  
"Should we just write it up then?" Tracy asked Nick, who was staring at the  
blood on his latex-covered finger.   
  
"Huh? Yeah, probably," he said distractedly. "Nat, can I talk to you for a  
minute?"   
  
Nick pulled the coroner away, leaving Tracy to stare at the body at her  
feet. Why did you do it? she mentally asked the corpse. Is *that* the  
answer to this interminable dullness?  
  
*****  
  
Natalie shook off his arm and scowled at Nick. He was always dragging her  
around, pulling her after him like she needed a leash to follow.   
  
"Nick," she sighed, "I've got papers to fill out, bodies to cut up. Make it  
snappy."   
  
"There's something wrong about this," he said, his blue eyes troubled.  
"I... I tasted the blood."   
  
"Nick!" Natalie hissed. "She killed herself! Leave it be!"   
  
"She was hearing voices, Nat," he said, pleadingly. "Voices that wanted her  
blood!"   
  
"There was obviously *something* wrong." Nat gestured back at the red pool  
on the floor. "One of the uniforms found a bottle of Haloperidol in her  
bathroom; it's a psychoactive tranquilizer used to treat schizophrenia.  
That would explain the voices. Unless you think ... someone ... would let  
all this blood ... go to waste."   
  
Nick looked chagrined. "No, I guess you're right," he mumbled. "I think I'm  
just getting a bit paranoid lately."   
  
Natalie shook her head and Nick wandered off toward his partner. What was  
up with him these days? He was seeing vampires in every case. Last week it  
had been a domestic squabble in which the man stabbed the woman, but left  
the knife in the wound. Because of the relatively little blood at the  
scene, Nick had been convinced that a vampire was involved. Natalie had to  
measure the blood in the woman's body to convince him.   
  
The week before that, it had been a homeless woman found strangled at the  
lakeshore. Nick had been positive that the marks on the neck were bites,  
rather than the impressions of a ring. The fact that the woman had all of  
her blood didn't seem to faze him at all. Only when Tracy had caught the  
murderer and found the ring would he believe.   
  
He needs a vacation Natalie decided. In a psychiatric ward would be  
best. She smiled at the thought of Nick in therapy. Her friend Laura  
Haynes, a psychiatrist, would have a field day with the immense guilt Nick  
carried around. Maybe they could joint publish: "The Medical and  
Psychiatric Peculiarities of the Vampire." She hadn't spoken to Laura in a  
while, maybe she would call her soon, have dinner with her before her  
shift. They had drifted apart, but ... it didn't need to stay that way.   
  
*****  
  
Nick followed Tracy back to the precinct. She had started to drive like a  
maniac since she had gotten her new car. She had never explained why she  
had suddenly gotten rid of her faithful Taurus for the tiny sports car she  
now drove. It had *no* trunk space and was, therefore, inferior, in Nick's  
opinion. When he had asked her about the change, she had said that it was  
time she lived a little, then had promptly changed the subject.   
  
For once, CERK was playing only music. LaCroix had done nothing more than  
perfunctorily introduce the piece before the music began. It was something  
with haunting strings, the sound of one lonely violin singing its plaintive  
song over the harmonies of the lower-pitched instruments. It was a relief  
to not be taunted by LaCroix over the airwaves for once, to simply drive in  
his car and listen to music.   
  
The melancholy tune was the perfect background for his thoughts. In his  
head, he could hear the voices that the woman who had committed suicide had  
heard. It would only last for a couple hours, but if he wasn't careful,  
they would overtake his mind and make him share in her madness ... not that  
Nick was sure that was what it was. At least not at first. The woman,  
Lucinda, had been frightened in the beginning, seeking the doctor that had  
given her the prescription for the Haloperidol. The drugs, however, had  
done nothing to quiet the voice in her head. Afraid that she would be  
locked away, Lucinda had not told the psychiatrist that the voice still  
spoke to her. Eventually, she had become resigned to the voice's desire for  
blood and had slit her own throat to appease it.   
  
The voice was subtly familiar to Nick, but he couldn't place it. It  
resonated with something in his own mind, something that snaked along the  
edges of his brain, waiting to strike. No matter how hard he tried, though,  
he couldn't pin down what it was. Regardless of what Natalie said, though,  
Nick wasn't convinced that the victim had been insane. Lucinda had been  
*so* sure that the voice was not in her imagination that Nick was inclined  
to believe her. He would have to think on it more.   
  
****  
  
Tracy dropped her keys and bag on the rosewood table by the door and picked  
her way across the debris of her darkened apartment to collapse on her  
couch. She could turn the light on, but then she would just see the mess  
and feel guilty for not cleaning her apartment in three weeks. This way,  
sitting in the dark, she could pretend her life was in order and everything  
was normal.   
  
But it wasn't.   
  
Her life was a mess.   
  
... At least internally. Externally, her life was great. She had just  
gotten a raise based on the great arrest record she and Nick had. She had a  
new, sporty car. Her mother and father had finally begun to speak civilly  
to one another again. She had been playing with her friends in their ska  
band at least once a week. She'd even been asked out on a date.   
  
She knew she should be happy, and that's what made it so difficult to  
motivate herself into making any changes. She was, fundamentally,  
underneath it all, unhappy. It wasn't any one thing that was depressing  
her, but rather thousands of tiny little things. Each one, in and of  
itself, was nearly inconsequential, but piled together, they were a load  
almost too much to bear.   
  
She missed Vachon. It was so much more than that, though; she missed being  
part of something big. Being friends with a vampire had made her feel  
special. Now, with Screed and Vachon, the two vampires she had known, dead,  
she felt small again. She knew that there were other vampires, probably  
even in Toronto, but she no longer felt extraordinary. Now, she was again  
Tracy Vetter, Good Cop.   
  
It wasn't even just that, though. It was her apartment not allowing pets.  
It was her partner's oddness. It was being hit on by jerks at the Crash. It  
was coming home to an empty, untidy apartment. It was the approaching  
winter. It was her maxed-out credit cards. It was her father always pushing  
her to get out of homicide. It was her mother asking her when she was going  
to settle down and have kids. It was watching Nick and Nat dance around  
each other when they should just seize the moment and be in love.   
  
It frustrated her to no end to watch those two. They both so obviously  
loved each other, but they refused to admit it. Anytime the subject was  
brought up, they had their standard answer: "It's complicated." One of  
these times, Tracy was going to lose her temper and scream at them: "Of  
course it's complicated, you idiots! It's *love*! Love is not some simple,  
happy, fluffy emotion. It's as painful as grinding glass into your heel, as  
frightening as finding a stranger in your home. It's loss; it's  
embarrassment; it's hate; but that's no reason not to do something about  
it! You only have so much time on this earth, so you'd better make the most  
of it!"   
  
She hadn't done it yet, though. Intellectually, she knew that it was  
throwing stones from the porch of her own glass house. After all, she had  
never told Javier Vachon how much she had loved him. She had assumed she  
had eternity. She had never thought that he would die, let alone that she  
would be the one to kill him. She had never thought that she could only  
declare her feelings to the cold dirt that covered his decaying shell.   
  
She had never thought she would lose him.   
  
*****  
  
LaCroix stood on the roof of the building, watching the dark windows below  
him. He could hear the young woman's heartbeat as she sat in the dark. She  
was in the living room, staring into the blackness as she had done most  
nights for the past month and a half.   
  
He had closely watched his son's partner descend into depression. He knew  
the signs from his long acquaintance with Nicholas: the brooding, the  
desire for solitude, the lackluster response to life. Young Tracy had all  
the signs and more. She was better, however, than Nicholas at hiding her  
despair from others. His son was one to broadcast his sorrow to the world  
with significant sighs and heavy looks. Tracy indulged her despondency only  
when she was unobserved - or thought that she was.   
  
It had begun when she had remembered the death of the Spaniard. LaCroix had  
no doubts that she relived his fatal thrust every day during her slumber.  
He had always known that she would be unhappy with the knowledge of her  
part in her ... lover's? ... friend's death, but this was becoming  
unacceptable. She had no one to speak to of this. She had not been raised  
as he had, to keep all emotion inside, to be sufficient unto herself. She  
*required* an outlet for her pain.   
  
Only when she returned from her nights with her friends at the basement  
club she frequented did she appear to be any happier. He had sent one of  
the young ones to the club, telling him that it was to "investigate the  
competition". However, when the vampire had been to the dark pit of the  
Crash, he had assured LaCroix that it was no competition, though the music  
was very good. LaCroix would not go there himself, though he thought of  
bringing the club to him.   
  
This music, "ska", however, did not create the kind of sensual mood he  
desired for the Raven. Things would simply have to remain as they were, at  
least in that quarter. He was unsure of his motives where it concerned this  
young woman. She was beautiful - or could be, when she tried - but it was  
not only that. With this despair, she seemed to develop from a girl into a  
woman before his eyes, like a caterpillar into a butterfly (though that  
image was a tired one). Her thoughts and feelings acquired new depth and  
fierceness.   
  
She would make a *wonderful* vampire.   
  
He launched himself into the air, still thinking.   
  
A much better vampire than his wayward, mortal-loving son, Nicholas. He  
knew that Nicholas truly loved the good Dr. Lambert. He had known it for  
years. Why he had not taken her life as he had promised, he was not sure.  
At first it had been to ensure that the attachment between the two grew,  
until they declared their love. That would make it so much more painful  
when he finally took the life of Nicholas' love.   
  
Later, though, it had been because he found himself admiring Dr. Lambert.   
She was intelligent despite being overly enamored of science and his son.   
This was a rare quality in Nicholas' conquests. Beauty was usually what  
attracted his son, nothing more. LaCroix wasn't even sure that Nicholas  
understood why Dr. Lambert was currently discontented. LaCroix had not  
ever spoken to the doctor about the relationship, yet even he could tell  
that she wanted something more, something that Nicholas was unwilling, or  
perhaps unable, to give.   
  
Maybe this would be a good time to discuss matters with Dr. Lambert. She  
should be provided with a father's wisdom in this matter.   
  
*****  
  
i must have you   
  
The girl twitched further underneath her blankets of cardboard and  
newspaper. She wouldn't listen. No more.   
  
i want your honey innocence   
  
In spite of herself, the girl felt in her pocket for the knife she kept  
there. She knew how happy it would make the voice. She knew the pain she  
felt would only make it better.   
  
cold copper and hot iron   
  
With her thumb, she slid out the blade out of the pocketknife.  
Deliberately, she pressed it against the concrete upon which she lay.  
Whimpering against her desire to please the voice, she bent the metal until  
it snapped off.   
  
naughty child   
  
With a gasp, the girl felt a rush of pleasure so intense it was almost  
pain. She panted and writhed in exquisite agony, grinding the back of her  
head into the hard ground beneath her.   
  
give me your fire   
  
Shuddering, the girl scraped at the ground until her fingers found the  
blade she had just snapped. Her hands shook so that it took a few tries to  
plunge the blade into the soft skin of her inner elbow.   
  
sacrifice to me   
  
She pulled the small blade down the inside of her arm, feeling the heat of  
the pain grow more intense with each millimeter. The blood welled up from  
the cut, slowly spilling over her arm to drip and puddle on the concrete.   
  
more   
  
She yanked the blade from between the tendons in her wrist and slid the  
knife blade into the softness of her other arm.   
  
what a good girl   
  
*****  
  
LaCroix almost always took an evening constitutional. Only when the  
weather was truly inclement did he not. It was an opportunity for him to  
revel in the scent of human blood and perhaps to find prey. He hunted less  
frequently these days, but he still loved the thrill of the chase and taste  
of fear in the blood. He killed rarely, but he had control enough to sip  
from the fountain of life without draining it.   
  
He had been discreetly following a young woman this evening through a  
decrepit neighborhood near the harbor when he had been distracted by a  
sensation of being watched. The last time he had felt that piercing stare,  
Divia had killed several younger vampires before attempting to kill  
Nicholas and himself. He had, however, seen Divia's ashes scattered to the  
winds, and, evil as she was, he was sure even his daughter couldn't escape  
from that final rest.   
  
LaCroix ended his pursuit of the beautiful young woman and stepped into an  
alley. Closing his eyes and extending his other senses to the fullest, he  
let himself feel the city around him. He could hear the cacophony of  
mortal heartbeats, the rush of water in the sewers, the hum of electricity  
in the wires ... and *there* ... the observer. No heartbeat, no heat, in  
an alley across the busy street. A vampire? Maybe. Something was not  
quite right. There was a mind he could feel, one that was not quite  
vampire and not quite human. Almost insane, but fighting.   
  
He opened his eyes and focused on the other alley. A shape hid in the  
shadows, too dark for even his enhanced eyesight to see. The creature did  
not seem to actually be looking at him, but the sensation of being watched  
persisted nonetheless. He focused farther back into the alley and felt a  
human. One fighting with all of her mental powers to resist something. To  
resist the terrible pleasure, the wonderful pain.   
  
The same sensations Divia had made him feel when she had sliced his face  
open.   
  
LaCroix launched himself into the air toward the other alley, but it was  
too late. The young girl's blood slowly seeped across the concrete and the  
creature was gone. He scanned the area with his senses, but the only  
sounds were traffic, humanity, and breaking glass.   
  
*****  
  
Nick was flipping through all the available information on Lucinda Gravel,  
last night's suicide victim, when the call came to his desk.   
  
"Knight..." a raspy voice breathed. "Knight..."   
  
"Who is this?" Nick demanded.   
  
"You have to--" There was a strangled growl and then a loud smash.   
  
"Who are you? Do you need help?" Nick asked, but after a few moments, the  
dial tone began.   
  
The detective hung up the phone, then, after a few seconds of drumming his  
fingers on his desk, picked it up again and dialed the resident  
wire-tapper. He got a lot of anonymous tips from the vampire community of  
Toronto, and he liked to be able to have some sort of leverage when needed.  
So, soon after moving to the city, he had gotten one of the force's  
surveillance experts to tap his desk phone. He had managed to keep up the  
arrangement through the years and station changes by the judicious  
application of Maple Leafs season tickets. Finally, there was a click as  
the phone picked up.   
  
"Hello. You have reached the Toronto Police Department's Surveillance  
Electronics Team," the recording began. "If you have a surveillance  
emergency, please press one. If you need to schedule surveillance, please  
press two. If you have dialed the incorrect number please press three. If  
you're calling to complain, please hang up. If you know your party's  
extension, please press four. If you do not know your party's extension,  
please look it up in the Department directory and then call back."   
  
Nick hesitated; he couldn't remember the correct extension. He hated these  
stupid recordings. After a moment, the recording began again.   
  
"If you're still waiting, please hang up. When you decide what to do,  
please call back. Thank you."   
  
The line went dead. With a low growl, Nick carefully replaced the receiver  
in the cradle. He really wanted to slam it down, but he had already  
destroyed three phones this year, and he'd been told that the next one was  
going to come out of his paycheck. It wasn't that he couldn't afford it,  
but it was the principle of the thing. Why should he be held responsible  
for shoddy workmanship?   
  
Pulling open his desk drawer, Nick rummaged around until he found the small  
blue police phone directory. It was arranged by department. He looked under  
"Surveillance". Then under "Wiretaps". Then "Electronics". Then "Idiots".  
Finally, he found it under "Auxiliary Teams".   
  
He dialed the number again, then dialed the extension.   
  
"If you had followed the instructions," the recording said calmly, "you  
would know that that was an incorrect entry." The options were again  
repeated. With exaggerated care, Nick pressed four, then dialed the  
extension. He found it to be particularly apt: 666. There was the sound of  
several connections being made, then a loud beep.   
  
"Hello. You've reached the voice mail of Ira Doolittle." Another recording.  
"I'm currently doing something more important than picking up the phone, or  
I'm out of my office. If you think it will do any good, leave a message."   
  
Suppressing the urge to spout a string of multi-lingual obscenities, Nick  
spoke calmly into the phone. "Hello, Ira, it's Nick Knight. How about those  
Maple Leafs, eh? Listen, I got a phone call around --" Nick checked his  
watch "-- 8:15 tonight. I need to have a copy of the tape on it and let me  
know what else you can find out about it."   
  
"A phone call?" A voice behind him asked.   
  
Nick hung up the phone and whirled around to face his partner. She was  
carrying two cups of coffee and a bag that contained pastries of some sort,  
by the sugary stench radiating from the bag.   
  
"A weird one," he confirmed. "But nothing to worry about."   
  
For some reason, he didn't want to tell Tracy about this phone call. He  
couldn't articulate why, but he instinctually knew that it would be a bad  
idea. Tracy had seemed so distant lately, so dedicated to her job. She was  
no longer the child she had been when she started in homicide; one who  
would blanche at the sight of a gory crime scene. Now, she was hardened.  
Her ... innocence had been lost.   
  
It was a shame.   
  
"I brought you a cup of coffee," Tracy said, putting one of the cups in  
front of him.   
  
"Trace, you know I don't drink that stuff," Nick said, shaking his head.   
  
"Well," she said, plopping herself down across the desk and smiling, "I  
guess I'll just have to drink them both. Doughnut?" Nick wrinkled his nose  
at the proffered bag. "All right, so it's stereotypical, but it's good.  
Anyway, I get tired of eating healthy food all the time."   
  
"I was reading through Ms. Gravel's file," Nick reported, trying to ignore  
the overly-sweet smell of the pastries. "She was a good, law-abiding  
citizen, never married, no children, paid her taxes, one speeding ticket  
four years ago--a model citizen. So why would she kill herself?"   
  
"I don't know, Nick," Tracy said around a mouthful of food, "But she did.  
Maybe death was her only way out. Let's just put this one to rest ... so to  
speak."   
  
Before Nick could retort, Captain Reese stuck his head out of his door.   
  
"Another suicide," he reported. "Looks like you're getting the easy cases  
this week."   
  
*****  
  
Tracy stood by the body of the homeless girl. She lay just inside an alley,  
sprawled on her back, half-buried in a nest of coats, newspaper, and  
cardboard boxes. The blood formed a huge puddle around her, leading out  
from the ragged gashes along her inner arms. Another suicide. Was it  
another hint? Was someone trying to tell her something? She was so unhappy.  
Was this the only way out? Should she spill her blood out on the ground,  
just like Lucinda Gravel and this young girl? Her own blood smelled of  
apricots and calla lilies, Vachon had told her. She sighed internally. One  
day, maybe, she would forget him again.   
  
"I never really realized before this week how much blood is in the human  
body," she said to her partner, who was leaning over the body.   
  
"Yeah, you'd be surprised," he said and stood up. "You just don't normally  
get to see it. It's there all the time, just underneath the surface,  
pounding against the skin, hot and pulsing ..."   
  
Tracy looked at him. He was staring at the body, or past it rather, into  
nothing.   
  
"You ok?" she asked. Nick shook his head and turned and smiled. "I haven't  
had dinner yet."   
  
"Happens to me, too, sometimes. Low blood sugar," she commiserated.   
  
"Something like that," he agreed. "Now, what do we have here? Another  
suicide?"   
  
"I'm not so sure," Natalie's voice said from behind them. The two  
detectives turned to see the coroner, her forehead creased in frustration.  
"They're obviously self-inflicted wounds, but can you imagine just how  
difficult it would be to do that to one arm then go and do it to the  
other?"   
  
"Drugs?" Tracy asked. "Something that would dull the pain?"   
  
"It's possible, but she wasn't shooting up in her arms: no track marks.  
Pills are possible, maybe Percodan or Dexadrine, but she'd be so  
fuzzy-headed she wouldn't be able to concentrate long enough to go through  
with it." Natalie shook her head. "It's no good speculating. I'll do a  
toxicology screen when we take her in, but that'll take a few days."   
  
"Could someone have been ... helping?" Nick asked. "Holding her hand?  
Forcing her to?"   
  
"It's possible, but there's no sign of a struggle, and no one heard  
anything," Tracy pointed out. "Not that anyone in this area would  
necessarily admit to seeing anything, even if they did."   
  
"Hey, I only live a few blocks from here!" Nick protested.   
  
"It's true, Nick, and you know it," Natalie said. "Just look around; this  
isn't exactly the best neighborhood."   
  
Tracy looked out of the mouth of the alleyway. The few stores there were,  
were closed and gated. A telephone booth with all the glass smashed out was  
across the street. The street looked like she felt: unwanted and dirty. The  
crowd wasn't full of the most savory characters, either.   
  
It amazed her that, no matter how late the crime scene, there was always a  
crowd. How did everyone find out? She scanned the crowd, noting the wide  
variety of ages and clothing. Suddenly, her eyes stopped on a vaguely  
familiar onlooker: a man, tall, broad shoulders, close-cropped blonde hair...   
  
"Nick, isn't that the owner of the Raven?" she asked, pointing out the man  
in question. "'La' ... something French."   
  
Her partner followed her finger, his eyes widening in surprise when he  
spotted him. His body tensed, like a rabbit noticing a hawk overhead, ready  
to flee for its life. Tracy scrutinized the club owner, looking for some  
clue as to what was frightening Nick. She could see nothing. The man was  
not even looking in their direction, but was watching Natalie and the rest  
of the coroner's staff zip the body into a black bag.   
  
"Nick?" Tracy asked, gently nudging her partner.   
  
"Huh? Oh. Yeah. His name is 'LaCroix,'" he answered, carefully turning his  
back on the man. "I wonder what he's doing here. This really isn't his type  
of place."   
  
"Really?" Tracy asked in surprise. "You know him that well? I thought you'd  
only met him a few times."   
  
"Um ... we spoke when we worked on that baby-snatching case. Nothing  
important, of course," he added hastily.   
  
"Just general getting-to-know-you chit-chat?" Tracy asked.   
  
Nick nodded, then wandered over to the coroner's van to talk to Natalie.  
Why was Nick acting so strange about this man? Tracy wondered. Why was  
Nick afraid of this LaCroix? She knew that he owned the Raven, a popular  
vampire hangout. Maybe she should do a little snooping. Vachon had told  
her that LaCroix wasn't a vampire, but he had been dishonest with her  
before.   
  
*****  
  
Nick had tried to be as casual as possible answering Tracy's questions, but  
he knew that his panic had showed. Why he was so nervous about LaCroix's  
presence, he didn't know. He had been getting along better with his  
erstwhile father of late. They had even gone to the theatre together last  
week, though they had disagreed severely on the quality of the production.   
  
His presence here, though, unnerved him. This really was not his  
neighborhood, unless he had been out feeding. And, more importantly, Nick  
had not felt his presence. Now that he was aware of LaCroix's proximity, he  
could sense him, but before Tracy had pointed him out, he had been  
oblivious. That was not safe. Unless LaCroix were deliberately trying to  
hide his presence, which seemed unlikely, since he wasn't physically  
hiding, there was something terribly wrong with Nick's vampiric abilities.   
  
And why was LaCroix watching Natalie? LaCroix had not threatened her life  
in many months now, nor even spoken about her to Nick, but Nick had no  
doubt that he only waited for an excuse to kill her or alienate her  
affections.   
  
"What's up?" Natalie asked as he approached. "You look strange."   
  
"Nothing," he said, and casually took her arm and led her to the far side  
of the coroner's van. "Just wanted to say goodbye."   
  
Natalie yanked her arm out of his hand and put her hands on her hips. She  
glared at him. What did I do now? he wondered.   
  
"Nick Knight, if you don't stop acting like an overbearing, arrogant jerk,  
I don't want to be around you anymore!" Natalie hissed in a controlled but  
furious whisper. "Stop dragging me around and stop lying to me! If there's  
something wrong, tell me! If you want me to go somewhere with you, ask! I  
am not your puppy dog to be taken where you want!"   
  
Nick stared in amazement. What on earth was she talking about?! A puppy  
dog?   
  
"Nat," he said slowly, "What do you mean?"   
  
"I mean," she said, looking around to be sure no one was near, "That you're  
acting like a thirteenth century nobleman without any of the chivalry! I'm  
not a hothouse flower to be coddled and protected from all the cold drafts  
and nasty bugs! For god's sake, Nick, I cut up dead bodies for a living! I  
am a *grown woman*!"   
  
"What…?" Nick began. "I didn't say that you weren't! I didn't say  
anything!"   
  
"Of course you didn't," Natalie said coldly. "You never *say* anything."  
She turned her attention to the clipboard in her hand and made a show of  
looking at her notes. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a body to  
transport."   
  
Nick backed off carefully, as if she would explode at any moment. That may  
not be far off, he though ruefully. I just wish knew what I did. What  
does she mean I never say anything? We talk all the time.   
  
"Nick?" Tracy called from across the alley. "Come sign this paperwork!"   
  
Nick sighed and turned toward his partner. He would find out what was  
bothering his favorite coroner later.   
  
*****  
  
Natalie slammed her notebook closed and threw it into the passenger seat of  
her car. The *nerve* of him! How could he be so thick-headed?!   
  
"Just exactly what manner of idiot *is* he?!" she wondered aloud.   
  
"I have often pondered that question myself, Dr. Lambert," a smooth voice  
said from the backseat.   
  
Before she ever really thought, Natalie reached for the door handle. A  
strong, pale hand stopped her, though, before she even moved two inches.   
  
"I would leave the horn alone as well, Doctor," the somewhat familiar voice  
advised.   
  
Natalie lowered the hand that had been, she thought, stealthily moving  
toward the center of the steering wheel. Moving as slowly as possible, she  
turned around.   
  
It was LaCroix. Nick's maker, father, master. The one who called and Nick  
came like an obedient dog, and no matter what Nick thought, that was the  
truth of it. She had met him only a few times, and each had been …  
stressful.   
  
"I see you recognize me. Good," the elder vampire stated. "If you would not  
scream or otherwise draw attention to us, I would be happy to release your  
wrist. You may nod if this is acceptable."   
  
Natalie nodded and her wrist was released. She rubbed it where the vampire  
had held it.   
  
"I'm sure you are wondering just why I am here," LaCroix continued. "I  
believe that we have some things we should discuss. I thought we might  
talk over a drink."   
  
"I … have to get back to the lab," Natalie said lamely.   
  
"I'm sure you have plenty of sick time," LaCroix said. "Why don't you just  
call off, and we can have a nice chat."   
  
Natalie took this as less of a suggestion and more of an order. She picked  
up her cell phone and called the Coroner's office, citing a particularly  
awful headache (Yeah, Nick, she thought) as her reason for needing the  
rest of the night off. After a bit of grousing from Grace, her excuse was  
accepted. She hung up and turned back around. She decided that it did no  
good to be afraid of this vampire. He could kill her in an instant, and  
there was nothing she could do. She might as well use this opportunity to  
pick his brains about Nick. Maybe she could turn up something useful.   
  
"Where to?" she inquired.   
  
"I would suggest my abode, but, somehow, I do not believe that you would be  
comfortable." Natalie raised an eyebrow. "There is a coffee shop on Yonge,  
I believe, that will serve our purpose adequately, however."   
  
Natalie turned around and started the car. This might prove to be an  
interesting evening after all.   
  
*****  
  
Tracy pulled her car into the small slot at the back of the station. It  
was time for her to finish up all of the paperwork she had been putting  
off. Nick would never do it if she didn't, and if it didn't get done, the  
captain would yell at them again. She hated when she got yelled at.   
  
She got out of her car and reached into the tiny backseat for her bag. She  
had taken home a large stack of paperwork last night, but had spent the  
night brooding in the dark instead. She promised herself that she would  
complete every single piece of paperwork in this bag before she left the  
station -- even if it meant staying until noon.   
  
She slammed her car door decisively and strode across the narrow parking  
lot to the station's back door. As she was about to open the door, she  
heard a rustling behind her. Tracy whirled around and scanned the lot.   
Between her car and the blue station wagon on the far side of it was a  
human-sized dark patch.   
  
"Who's there?" Tracy called out.   
  
The dark area moved a bit but didn't respond. Not willing to take any  
risks, she dropped her bag and pulled out her gun. She'd rather be laughed  
at by a fellow cop for over-reacting than be killed by a car thief. She  
moved closer to the cars, wishing that the parking lot was better lit.   
  
"Come out!" she called. "This is Detective Vetter with the Toronto Police  
Department."   
  
She was at her car now. There was a gargling noise, then a "whoosh" from  
the other side of her car. She darted around, only to find no one there.   
She quickly checked behind and underneath the cars nearby, but found no  
one. Going back to her car, she unlocked it and reached under her seat for  
her flashlight. Holstering her gun, she played the flashlight over the car  
door, looking for the tell-tale scratches of an attempted break-in. There  
were none.   
  
She shone the light on the ground, moving it slowly over the area. She was  
about to turn it off when there was a weak reflection from behind her tire.  
She crouched down and retrieved the object.   
  
It was a piece of a photograph: a corner, with two straight edges and two  
torn. She didn't have good enough light out here in the lot to look at it  
carefully, so she stuffed it in the pocket of her leather coat to look at  
later. She replaced her flashlight and re-locked her car, then headed back  
toward the station.   
  
*****  
  
Nick plopped down onto his leather sofa and tried to understand the last  
few days. Tracy was increasingly moody and reckless, Natalie was angry at  
him for no apparent reason, and LaCroix was showing up at crime scenes.   
Maybe it was something in the water. But that wouldn't explain LaCroix.   
He had tried to find his vampire father after signing the crime scene  
reports, but he was gone. When he then tried to find Natalie, she was gone  
as well. He had tried her car phone, but she wasn't answering. Probably  
because she thinks it's me, he thought.   
  
He sat and stared into the fire for a minute, then reached for his phone.   
He could at least get some work done, rather than just leaving it all to  
Tracy as he had been doing lately. He called into his voice mail. After  
pressing a seemingly endless series of buttons, he got in and had three  
messages.   
  
"Detective Knight, this is Mary in Human Resources. You have reached your  
limit on vacation days. You will not be able to accumulate any more until  
you reduce the number down to 30. Please give me a ring at extension 541  
if you have any questions."   
  
Nick sighed. His life was eternal, or nearly so. What need did he have  
for vacation days? He could take a few *years* off if he felt like it!   
The next message began.   
  
"Nick. Ira. Ran that trace. It was made from a payphone on Marcus:  
555-0110. The phone is now out of order, according to the company. I'll  
interoffice mail you a copy of the tape."   
  
Damn. The suicide tonight had been on an alley off Marcus. He's have to  
get the exact address from Doolittle tomorrow and check it out tomorrow  
night. He didn't believe in coincidences. The last message began.   
  
"Knight ..." a raspy voice began. "Hurts ... Stop her ... stop me..."   
  
There was the fumbling sound of someone hanging up, then nothing. He  
pressed the button that got him the time and date stamp: 4:15 AM. That was  
only ten minutes ago. Who was it he was supposed to stop? He had to call  
Doolittle right away. Maybe he could get someone to deliver copies of the  
wire-tapping tapes. If there was a connection in these suicides and these  
phone calls, he would find out what it was.   
  
*****  
  
Natalie sat at the table reviewing her conversation with Lucien LaCroix.   
He had only just left, citing "Hunger. I'm sure you understand, Dr.  
Lambert." It was near dawn now, but she wasn't anywhere near tired. It  
had been a very interesting and instructive two hours, though not an  
experience she was eager to repeat anytime soon. LaCroix was too ...  
smooth for her tastes. He opened doors, pulled out her chair, complimented  
her, but not in a way that made her feel patronized. Quite the contrary,  
it felt as if LaCroix were doing it because he was *honoring* her. But he  
was sneaky, she knew that. She had to use all of her mental strength to  
resist feeling flattered by his attention. She didn't know what kind of  
game he was playing, but she was sure it was a game.   
  
He had tried to start out with idle chit-chat, but Natalie wouldn't allow  
it.   
  
"What did you want to discuss?" she had insisted.   
  
LaCroix had sighed, as if disappointed with her impoliteness, but had  
answered. "I wished to discuss Nicholas with you. More specifically, your  
relationship with him."   
  
Natalie had snorted, drawing a disapproving look from the vampire. "What  
relationship?" she'd asked. "We don't have -- can't have -- a  
relationship. You know that."   
  
"You can't? Or you won't? Or, more exactly, Nicholas won't?" LaCroix had  
asked with a small, understanding smile.   
  
The waitress had come to take their orders then and Natalie was spared  
having to answer. When the waitress left, LaCroix began to talk of  
Nicholas and his life. He told her about their life together, the  
arguments, and the joy. He told her of Alyssa, Nicholas' wife, that he had  
failed to bring across. He told her of his own pain at seeing his son draw  
away from him. He told her of Nicholas' love of life and women and the  
world.   
  
"In spite of what Nicholas has told you, and what opinions you may have  
formed on your own, I have always had Nicholas' best interests at heart."   
He looked down into the cool cup of coffee he had not drank. "Our opinions  
on what that is may differ, but I have always wanted the best for him.   
What parent is not guilty of the same thing?"   
  
It was soon after that that he left. Natalie had said little during their  
time together, but she had learned much. LaCroix had also had one more  
cryptic thing to say before he left.   
  
"That death tonight. The girl. I am not sure it is what it seems," he had  
said hesitatingly, then was gone from the near empty shop.   
  
She drained the last of her coffee from her cup -- her third-- and stood up  
to go to her car. She had learned more about Nick tonight than he had ever  
told her himself. She could understand now why he might be afraid to be  
with her, since she had heard of Alyssa. Why had Nick not told her? Was  
he just trying to shield her?   
  
As she unlocked her car and climbed in, she wondered whether she should  
tell Nick of her meeting with LaCroix. Probably not. She couldn't imagine  
he would be too happy about it, the way he tried to protect her from  
everything.   
  
And what had LaCroix meant, "I am not sure it is what it seems." Well, in  
any case, she would be extra careful with the autopsy. Maybe he was right.  
She doubted it, but just maybe.   
  
*****  
  
LaCroix let himself into the back door of the Raven and locked it again  
behind him. It was nearly dawn; he had spent much more time with Dr.  
Lambert than he had thought he would. It was clear that Nicholas had told  
her very little about his past lives, and the doctor was eager to hear of  
them. Perhaps with his recitation, she would understand that Nicholas  
would likely never love her as she wished, and it was best for her to let  
him go. Probably not, but it would, no doubt, increase her discontent with  
him, creating a situation where she would demand a resolution from her son.  
Then everything would be resolved, one way or another.   
  
It was time for resolution. Toronto was becoming dull. Most vampires had  
moved on after Divia's attacks, leaving few with whom he could have true  
companionship. Really, he only remained now to be near Nicholas. And  
beautiful Tracy Vetter, he must admit. The young woman intrigued him.   
  
LaCroix pulled off his leather greatcoat and hung it on a hook on the wall.  
He was about to open the door to his private apartment when he heard and  
felt something in the cellar. No one lived in the rooms there any longer,  
since Divia had targeted those closest to him, including Urs, who had  
resided there. It should have been empty but for the furnishings and the  
occasional rodent.   
  
Concentrating, LaCroix could recognize the presence of a vampire in the  
cellar. Quietly and quickly, LaCroix moved to cellar stairs and stood.   
Suddenly, the other vampire's presence became the same sensation as he had  
felt earlier that night. It was almost as if there were two creatures in  
one mind, struggling for dominance. LaCroix sped down the stairs, faster  
than a human could see, and was outside the door to Urs' old room. He  
threw open the door, and the presence of the other creature vanished.   
LaCroix scanned the room and located a bolt hole in the wall behind the  
wardrobe, but chose not to follow the vampire.   
  
Whatever the creature truly was, it was clear that it was insane, strong,  
and fast. LaCroix would not follow it without adequate preparation. He  
looked around the room, searching for anything out of place, but, since he  
had never before been in Urs' lair, he could not tell. There were clothes  
on the floor and jewelry scattered across the bureau, but Janette's room  
had often looked the same, so he could not assume it had been ransacked.   
He looked through the jewelry until her found a large silver sun medallion  
on a chain and hung it on an exposed nail on the back of the wardrobe. He  
then pushed the wardrobe firmly against the bolt hole.   
  
He could not be positive the other vampire was Divia, but he would take no  
chances. He would not sleep well this day.   
  
*****  
  
Tracy sighed as she unlocked the door to her apartment. This was the  
latest she'd been up for weeks; it was almost 10:00 AM. She had finally  
finished all of her paperwork, and she was going to *force* Nick to help  
next time. There was just no way she was going to do it all by herself  
again.   
  
She dropped her keys on the table by the door, then reached in her pocket  
for her badge. Instead, she pulled out the corner of the photograph she  
had found in the parking lot. She had completely forgotten about it by the  
time she got to her desk to do paperwork. She shrugged out of her coat,  
and turned on the overhead light. Pointedly ignoring the state of her  
apartment, she moved to the center of the room, where the light was  
brightest.   
  
Looking carefully, she could see a crowd of people in a dark room in the  
background. In the foreground was a wisp on dark brown hair. Vachon's  
hair. She would recognize that shaggy mane anywhere. She glanced up at  
her refrigerator to compare it to the photograph of him and Screed that she  
kept there. It was one that had helped her remember Vachon's death and she  
kept it on the fridge to remind her of when her life had been special.   
  
The photograph was gone.   
  
She moved into her small kitchen and checked the floor, under the fridge,  
on the counters, everywhere. She was positive it had been there before she  
went to work. She made a point of sticking her tongue out at the two  
vampires every time she got something to eat. She distinctly remembered  
doing it before she went to work because she had discovered she was out of  
milk and had to have dry corn flakes.   
  
Tracy searched the apartment. There was no one in the bedroom, the closet,  
or the bathroom. She checked the door for signs of a break-in, but the  
lock wasn't scratched and the door hadn't been kicked. Besides, who would  
break in and steal a photograph off of her refrigerator?   
  
A vampire. One who didn't want any evidence of other vampires around.   
Vachon had warned her about them: the Enforcers.   
  
She checked her windows, but all were closed and locked. She dug in her  
jewelry box, though, and found the cross necklaces and earrings her Aunt  
Doris insisted on giving her every Christmas. It's better than nothing,  
she thought as she put the earrings on her windowsills and hung the  
necklaces from the doorknobs. She put on the final necklace, a  
particularly large gaudy one.   
  
She looked around her apartment, trying to determine if anything else was  
missing. With the mess the place was in, though, how could she tell? With  
a sigh, she began to pick things up. Maybe after a few hours of cleaning,  
she would be calm enough to sleep.   
  
*****  
  
Nick was waiting in the Caddy in the garage when the sun finally went down.  
Luckily, it was getting closer to winter so the light was less every day.   
He was at the station in less than ten minutes and only stopped to let  
Captain Reese know he was there before heading off to a soundproof  
listening room.   
  
He had gotten a uniform to deliver the wire-tap tapes to his loft earlier  
in the day and he had stayed up to try to find some clues to the identity  
of his mysterious caller. His home equipment just wasn't good enough,  
though. He put in the tape of the second phone call and listened closely  
to the background noise. It was another payphone, one on Ivy St., a  
residential area. All he could hear was the occasional car and pedestrian.  
  
  
He spent the next two hours playing the tapes over and over, searching for  
a sound that he had missed. Eventually, there was a knock on the door and  
it opened.   
  
"Hey, partner," Tracy said, poking her head in the door. "The Captain says  
that you've been here for a while. What are you up to?"   
  
Nick sighed and motioned Tracy in. She did, collapsing on a chair in the  
small room.   
  
"Just listening to some tapes of a couple weird calls I got. They were  
made at payphones, so no luck there," he said, then frowned. "You look  
terrible. Didn't you get any sleep?"   
  
"Only a few hours. I just ... couldn't get comfortable," she answered,  
then nodded toward the tape player. "Can I hear the tapes?"   
  
"Sure, why not." Nick pressed the play button. "This is the second one,  
but it's got better sound."   
  
There was a series of beeps and then the scratchy voice began to issue from  
the speakers: "Knight ... Hurts ... Stop her ... stop me..." Nick leaned  
over and hit the stop button.   
  
"That's it," he said, turning around to face his partner. "Nothing in the  
back-- Trace? Are you ok?" All the color had drained from his partner's  
face and she was stock-still in her chair. "What's wrong?"   
  
"Uh...Uh ..." Tracy stammered. "Nothing. I ... I just remembered  
something. I have to let in a ... a ... plumber ... I have to go."   
  
With that patently false explanation, Tracy was out of the room almost as  
quickly as a vampire. Nick slumped back in his chair and stared at the  
door. Maybe there was something in the tape after all. Tracy sure seemed  
to think so.   
  
*****  
  
LaCroix woke with a start. He instantly knew that it was several hours  
past sundown, much later than he usually slept. He had, however,  
experienced problems falling asleep. He did not like the idea of a  
stranger, one who was possibly a threat, in his home. Had it not been so  
near dawn when he discovered the intrusion, he would have left for one of  
his other homes in the city.   
  
He had used his daylight wakefulness wisely, however, planning his  
departure from this city. He had arranged for new papers and the transfer  
of all property but the Raven to a dummy company. The Raven he intended to  
return to Janette, if he could locate her. She would appreciate the  
gesture. All that remained was packing and travel arrangements. He could  
leave any time he chose.   
  
LaCroix arose from his bed, picking up the cream brocade duvet from the  
floor. He had not had pleasant dreams; he likely had kicked it off during  
his sleep. He made his way carefully and slowly to the entrance of the  
cellar. After sensing no strange presences, he darted down the stairs and  
into Urs' former room.   
  
It appeared undisturbed until he looked closer. The wardrobe had been  
moved slightly, as if someone didn't want to reveal their presence or  
hiding spot. He easily pushed aside the full wardrobe, the sun necklace  
swinging on the back. That, at least, seemed to suggest that it wasn't  
Divia, returned again from the dead. She would have been unable to  
tolerate the symbol, much as he could not tolerate a cross.   
  
Behind the wardrobe was a tunnel that he had not explored yesterday.   
However, after two invasions of his home in less than a day, it was time he  
investigated. He did not need Enforcers crawling over Toronto like flies  
on dead meat. He would take care of this himself.   
  
*****  
  
Tracy unlocked her car door, but didn't get out. She was in front of the  
church -- Vachon's church. She opened the duffel bag on the seat next to  
her, checking the contents: holy water, a cross, stakes, garlic. She  
pulled out one of the stakes and put one of the cloves of garlic in her  
pocket. She wasn't going in there unarmed, no matter how safe she had felt  
there in the past. She also reached under the seat and got her flashlight,  
putting it in her other pocket.   
  
That had been Vachon's voice on the tape. She had recognized it in an  
instant. But he was dead. She had killed him herself. He had begged her  
to do it, because there was something wrong with him. If he had come back,  
then he may have been right.   
  
Steeling herself, Tracy got out of the car, bringing her duffel with her.   
She kept a firm grip on her stake and slowly opened the door to the church.  
She hadn't been back since the night she regained her memories, a month  
and a half ago. When she had finished crying, she had cleaned the place  
up, boxing up Vachon's few belongings. There was something subtly  
different about the place, though, she had to admit to herself, it could be  
because she was afraid.   
  
Afraid Vachon would be here, and afraid he would not. She missed him so,  
but the voice on the phone had not sounded entirely sane. She didn't want  
to stake him again, though he had begged "Stop me." Stop him from what?   
And who was the "her" that needed to be stopped? He had also said "Help  
me," though, and Tracy was going to try. She owed it to him. He had saved  
her several times, and it was her turn to save him ... even if it was from  
himself.   
  
She took a deep breath and entered the building. The moon was full enough  
that she didn't need a flashlight, which was good, since her hands were  
full. She moved slowly down the hallway, then up the stairs. There were  
no indications that anyone had been here recently, but Tracy knew that  
could be a false sense of security. Sometimes when Vachon had lived here,  
it looked unlived in if he had only been gone a few days.   
  
Reaching the top of the stairs, Tracy entered the large room there. The  
old red carpet was dusty and small poufs of dust followed her footsteps.   
She didn't see any sign of a disturbance here, but Vachon had not had much  
here to begin with. Tracy made her way over to the stairs in the corner  
that led down into the cellar.   
  
She descended the stairs cautiously and in pitch darkness. She had  
forgotten that there were no lights where she was going. She stopped  
halfway down and tried to get her flashlight out of her pocket. She  
dropped the stake and heard it roll down the steps with a wooden "clunk,  
clunk, clunk."   
  
"Damn!" she muttered, and managed to turn on the light.   
  
Flashing the light around, Tracy didn't see the stake anywhere. She sighed  
and continued down the stairwell.   
  
Finally reaching the bottom, Tracy again looked for the stake. No luck.   
Maybe it rolled under the bed or something, she thought. Shining the  
light around, Tracy could easily see that someone *had* recently been in  
here. The blankets on the bed were on the floor and the boxes that held  
the bottles of blood were open. Several empty bottles rocked gently on the  
floor.   
  
Tracy paused. They should not be rocking, she thought. I haven't  
touched them yet.   
  
Tracy dropped her duffel bag and was halfway through unholstering her  
pistol when she was hit from the side. Her flashlight went flying across  
the room, the light shining crazily. Tracy twisted her body to land on her  
back. As she landed, she pulled up her legs and kicked. Her attacker was  
shoved backward, but didn't let go. As she struggled to get out her gun,  
her assailant pulled her closer. Abandoning that strategy as futile, Tracy  
reached into her pocket and pulled out the head of garlic.   
  
As soon as it was revealed, her attacker pushed her away and let go. Tracy  
heard a "whoosh," then a breeze, and then ... nothing. After waiting a few  
moments, she scuttled over to the bed where her flashlight had miraculously  
landed, unharmed. Shining the light around, Tracy didn't see anyone.   
Retrieving her duffel bag, she got out a lighter and lit as many candles as  
she could, managing not to lose hold of either the flashlight or the head  
of garlic.   
  
When all were lit and she was as sure as she could be that she was alone,  
Tracy sat down on the bed and gave into a serious case of the shakes.   
  
*****  
  
Natalie stripped off her latex gloves and dropped them into the biohazard  
container. She had just finished the autopsies on the two recent suicide  
victims, Lucinda Gravel and the young woman who had still not been  
identified. There was nothing unusual about either body, regardless of  
what LaCroix and Nick thought.   
  
She was about to sign off on the reports when the phone rang. She plopped  
down in her chair and picked up.   
  
"Lambert."   
  
"Dr. Lambert, this is Marsha at the lab. I have the preliminary reports  
that you asked for," the young woman on the phone said.   
  
"Wonderful!" Natalie said. She's almost forgotten about them. She didn't  
usually check for chemical imbalances in most autopsies, but since two  
vampires seemed to think these were strange, she did. "What did you find?"  
  
  
"Every thing was normal on both, except for one thing. They both had  
nearly unmeasurable levels of serotonin," Marsha said.   
  
"Thanks," Natalie said, "Fax it over to me, would you? Bye."   
  
Marsha echoed her goodbye, then hung up. Natalie hung up as well, her  
forehead wrinkled. Low levels of serotonin. What did she know about that?  
Low levels were linked to depression and depression to suicide. So she  
had her link.   
  
Now, why did these two women have low serotonin levels? With a sigh,  
Natalie pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. Looked like it would be a long  
night.   
  
*****  
  
Nick hung up the phone with a slight snarl. Tracy wasn't answering,  
Natalie wasn't answering, and LaCroix wasn't answering. He had a separate  
question for each of them. For Tracy, what the heck was wrong? For  
Natalie, had she found anything in the autopsies of the two suicides? And  
for LaCroix, what had he been doing at the scene of the most recent  
suicide?   
  
He pushed away from his desk and stood up. He would just have to track  
them down. He glanced at his watch. It was only just past midnight. He  
had plenty of time.   
  
Natalie first. She was the one most likely to be in a set place. He left  
the station, and deciding on speed, eschewed the Caddy for flight.   
  
Less than a minute later, he was at the coroner's office. Waving to Grace  
as he passed her office, Nick pushed open the door to the lab where Natalie  
performed her autopsies. She glanced up as he entered, waved, and  
continued speaking into a tape recorder.   
  
"Scars are indicative of slash marks, perhaps from fingernails or animal  
claws. Scar tissue indicates wound as six to ten weeks of age," she said  
before pushing the stop button. "I've got something that you should see,"  
she told Nick, then motioned him over to here desk.   
  
"You weren't answering your phone," Nick said, trying not to sound peevish.  
  
  
He obviously didn't succeed, because Natalie frowned at him. As he got to  
the desk, Natalie handed him a small pile of Polaroid's.   
  
"What you are looking at are two separate sets of scars. One on each of  
the recent suicide victims." She pointed to the long, narrow scratches,  
nearly hidden by hair in one of the photos. "I'm guessing fingernails or  
claws, both of the injuries happening about the same time. Honestly, I  
missed them on my first look, since they're hidden on both bodies.   
However, the victims also have one more similarity; they both have  
unusually low levels of serotonin." Nick looked blankly at her. "It's a  
neurotransmitter -- a chemical in the brain. It's linked to a lot of  
things, but the most common is depression. People with low levels are more  
likely to be depressed. However, the levels that I saw here are *way*  
below what is commonly found to cause depression."   
  
"So what does this mean?" Nick asked.   
  
"I have no idea." Natalie sat down with a sigh. "If I had to go out on a  
limb -- a very thin, shaky limb -- I would say that there is some  
relationship between the two women. They both seem to have been assaulted  
recently, in a rather strange way. Whether that has something to do with  
the serotonin, I don't know. Maybe there's a causal relationship, maybe  
there's not."   
  
"Ms. Gravel didn't report any assaults recently that I know of, but I'll  
look again." Nick paused, then frowned. "You said six to ten weeks ago?"   
  
"Yeah. What?" she asked.   
  
"Divia," he said coldly. "It was eight weeks ago that she came to  
Toronto."   
  
"You don't think..." Natalie began.   
  
"I don't know what to think." He shook his head and dropped the photos on  
the desk. "Why would she do that, though? Attack them and not kill them?   
She certainly had no qualms about murder."   
  
"Now that you mention it, these do look a lot like the cuts on the female  
vampire you brought in." Natalie turned her chair around and began to  
rummage in a drawer of her file cabinet. "Aha!" She pulled out a file  
folder and extracted a photograph. "Look."   
  
She laid a photo of Urs' cheek next to the other pictures. Except for  
being unhealed, the marks were exactly the same. Nick growled and looked  
up from the photos with golden eyes.   
  
"Nick!" Natalie exclaimed.   
  
"Sorry," Nick said, then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they  
were blue. "It just makes me so angry. Divia was *evil* and, even dead  
for good, she can still cause pain."   
  
"Hold on ... didn't you say that the first victim had been hearing voices?"  
Natalie asked slowly.   
  
"Yes ... and I heard them, briefly, when Divia left me for dead." He  
nodded to himself. "If she somehow infected these women ..."   
  
"Nasty suicides would be right up her alley, I'm guessing," Natalie pointed  
out. "If only we could ask Tracy if Vachon heard them, too."   
  
"I'm guessing he did if I did, but much louder." Nick shuddered. "The  
voices were Divia's thoughts. The pleasure she took in causing pain, the  
horror of it was appalling. She was *evil*. Urs and Vachon were so much  
younger ... I'm sure they couldn't have remained sane."   
  
"I think you need to talk to LaCroix," Natalie said quietly.   
  
"I think I do."   
  
*****  
  
LaCroix returned to find his vampire son pacing in front of the sofa. The  
elder vampire put down his black leather bag and shrugged out of his  
leather greatcoat. It was filthy and would need to be cleaned. Nicholas  
stared at him, but held his tongue. Only after he had a glass of one of  
his finest vintages did LaCroix address Nicholas.   
  
"Something amiss?" he inquired of his son.   
  
"We have a problem. I think Divia --" Nicholas began   
  
LaCroix cut him off with a wave. "It is not her."   
  
"But --" his son interrupted.   
  
"It is *not*." LaCroix hissed, then calmed himself with an effort. "But it  
is someone. They have been in the cellar." Nicholas stared at him in  
silence. "I take it Dr. Lambert found something useful?"   
  
"I ... I don't know if it's useful yet." He shook his head. "In the  
cellar?"   
  
"What did she find?" LaCroix asked, sipping his drink.   
  
"Um ... there are two suicide victims in the past week, both of whom had  
scratch marks, mostly healed, about two months old. They also had very low  
levels of serotonin," he explained.   
  
"Well, that would explain the suicides," he paused when he saw his son's  
look of amazement. "I do *read*, Nicholas. It might serve you well to  
attempt to keep up as well."   
  
Nicholas frowned, but refused to rise to the bait. "But the important  
thing," he continued, "Is that the scars match the ones on Urs."   
  
LaCroix stared into his drink. A mortal, a poetess, swirled there. She  
had been a secretive woman, one who kept all emotion to herself, only to be  
expressed in her poems, fragmented and haunted things. She was afraid of  
the world and of life. So she hid inside, in her garret room, waiting  
until night, when the world and life slept, to venture out into her garden.  
One night a vampire found her there and wooed her, making love with words  
until she was enchanted by him. Then he killed her and captured her life  
in this bottle. In this glass. In him.   
  
This was his life that was threatened in the dark now. Something stalked  
helpless prey in his city and invaded the sanctity of his home. He would  
not stand for it. His search today had been fruitless, leading into the  
confusion of the unused sewers under the city. He had been able to track  
the rogue for only a short time, and found no clues as to their identity.   
It appeared that he might be in need of the assistance that Nicholas and  
his mortal friends could provide.   
  
"I do not know who our secretive new friend is," he said finally. "Or  
perhaps it is an old friend." He stopped suddenly. "Where is your  
partner?"   
  
"Tracy?" Nicholas asked in confusion. "What does she have to do with  
this?"   
  
"You know that she has regained her memories? She was ... very strong.   
She is a very determined young woman and will stumble into trouble,"  
LaCroix pointed out.   
  
"She remembers? Vachon ... The phone call ..." his son trailed off.   
  
"What?" LaCroix snapped. "What are you babbling about?"   
  
"I got some phone calls, asking for help. Tracy freaked out when she heard  
one of them. If it's Vachon who's doing this ..." Nicholas paused and  
shook his head. "But it can't be. He's dead."   
  
"Ah, but so was Divia." LaCroix looked into his glass, and the dregs of  
the life swirling there. "So was Divia."   
  
*****  
  
come to me   
She finished addressing the envelope and slipped her journal inside.   
Tonight was to be the night. As a psychiatrist, she knew the importance  
of tying up loose ends in situations like these.   
  
let flow the pleasure   
  
She wiped off the mirror and took a last look. Now she was done. Empty.   
Ready.   
  
give it to me   
  
She turned off the water in the bath and made sure the scalpel was within  
reach. She had found it in one of her boxes in medical school and thought  
it was appropriate.   
  
your succulent sweetness   
  
Stepping into the bath, she carefully slid down into the water. It would  
not do to slip. That would be denying the voice of it's due.   
  
oh, yes   
  
She took the scalpel in one had and sliced it across her wrist. It was so  
sharp that she didn't feel it for a moment, then the pain blossomed behind  
her eyes.   
  
give me more   
  
Through the pain, she desired to please the voice. Switching the scalpel  
to her now weakened hand, she sliced open the other wrist.   
  
beautiful pain   
  
She dropped the scalpel over the side of the bath and slip into the water.   
  
my good girl   
  
*****  
  
Tracy stood at the entrance of the tunnel. She had come here, to Screed's  
old place, when her search of the church had been nearly useless. The  
boxes that had been packed were open and some clothes were missing.   
Obviously, the bottled blood had been disturbed, too. There was no  
indication that it was Vachon, though. However, that didn't mean she  
wasn't going to keep an eye on it. On her drive over, she had set up  
surveillance on the church, using an unsolved case as her excuse. It  
should be set up before she made it back to the station.   
  
She pulled open the rusty door and shined her light around the narrow  
entrance before going in. She was understandably a little nervous about  
this. She hadn't liked Screed's sewer-like dwelling when she had had  
Vachon's company. Now, she was afraid she might find *him* here. Plus,  
she had been attacked during last reconnoiter of a former vampire den.   
  
She wasn't sure if it had been Vachon who had attacked her. It could have  
been, but it just as easily could have been an Enforcer or another vampire  
who had moved in. Who are you kidding, she asked herself. You just  
don't want it to be him. She shook her head and stepped inside the  
tunnel, holding a cross in one hand and the flashlight in the other. It  
didn't matter what she wanted, she knew. It probably was Vachon, back from  
the dead, insane, and she was going to have to stake him ... again.   
  
Tracy pushed through a gaudy beaded curtain stretched across the tunnel and  
was in the large-ish area that had served as Screed's home. It looked much  
the same as it had the last time she had been here, though the pile of rat  
corpses was gone. She found the light switch she remembered and flipped  
it. The doubtlessly illegal connection lit up the area with several  
strands of white Christmas lights. The bed was directly below her, down  
several steps. It was unmade, and there was a blanket was next to it on  
the floor.   
  
Going down the steps, Tracy recognized it as her own afghan. Her  
grandmother had crocheted it for her when she was little. So, she  
thought, Whoever is here is the one who broke into my apartment. She  
turned off her flashlight and tucked it in her pocket. Getting a better  
grip on her cross, she began to explore the rest of Screed's old place.   
  
*****  
  
Nick had flown all over the city before finding Tracy's car parked in an  
alley. It had taken so long mostly because he kept forgetting he was  
looking for a Miata and not a Taurus. Once he'd gotten that part  
straightened out, he found the car in minutes. He recognized the alley as  
the one that contained an entrance to the dead carouche's den. What Tracy  
was doing here, he didn't know, but he was going to wait until she came  
out.   
  
After a boring twenty minutes of sitting on the hood of the Miata, Tracy  
emerged from a narrow door at the end of the alley. She shoved something  
in her pocket, but Nick couldn't see what it was, even with his  
supernaturally good sight. When she looked up and saw someone at her car,  
her hand went into the left side of her jacket and stayed there. Good,  
Nick thought, At least she's still being cautious. Of course, a vampire  
could still kill her before she got the gun out.   
  
"Tracy!" he called. "It's Nick."   
  
She stomped up, scowling at him. Apparently, this was his night for making  
people angry.   
  
"What are you doing here, Nick?" his partner asked.   
  
"What are *you* doing here?" he countered. "I thought you had to let in a  
plumber."   
  
"I ... I did that already." She looked out of the alley and down the  
street. "Hey, where's your car?"   
  
"Um ... I was just taking a walk during my dinner break and saw your car.   
I thought I'd wait for you to come back." He cringed at the lousy lie, but  
he had never been able to come up with a good answer to that all-too-common  
question. "What are you up to?"   
  
"Just checking out something for a case. It was a dead end, though, so  
forget about it." Tracy unlocked her car door and began to get in. "Come  
on, get in. I'll drive us back to the station."   
  
Nick sighed. There was no way to tell her that she might be in danger that  
wouldn't make her suspicious. His partner was just too smart for her own  
good sometimes. Maybe he could get LaCroix to hypnotize her again. Tracy  
honked the horn and Nick jumped. After glaring at her, he got in the car,  
then pulled out his cell phone. He dialed his vampire father's number.   
  
"Yes?" LaCroix's testy voice answered.   
  
"It's Nick," he said, trying to figure out a way to tell LaCroix what was  
going on without letting Tracy in on it. "Remember our earlier  
conversation?"   
  
There was a pause, then LaCroix answered, in a less annoyed tone. "You are  
with Tracy at the moment."   
  
"How do you know?" Nick asked incredulously.   
  
"I can hear her." There was a sigh. "Really, Nicholas, you forget how old  
and powerful I am."   
  
"Fine, fine." Nick knew this wasn't the time to argue. "But anyway, do you  
remember?"   
  
"Yes, of course I do." He sounded irritated again.   
  
"Well, it didn't work. No luck at all. Maybe you could give it a try?"   
Nick asked, glancing over at his partner. She was focused on the road.   
Good.   
  
"You mean you want me to try to convince Tracy to stay out of this because  
you can't talk to her about the real issues yourself?" his master asked,  
amusement evident in his voice. "Why should I? Why would she listen to  
me?"   
  
Nick took a deep breath. He didn't want to have to do this. But it was  
important.   
  
"Please?" he asked humbly.   
  
LaCroix laughed at him, the phone crackling a bit from the sudden noise.   
After a few moments, he calmed down.   
  
"Only because it's so important to you, Nicholas," the elder vampire said  
mockingly, then broke the connection.   
  
Nick wasn't quite sure what he had gotten his partner into, but he hoped it  
was better than what she was getting into herself.   
  
*****  
  
LaCroix waited until she got to her apartment door before finally  
approaching Tracy. He had followed her from the police station to her  
home, and he only had a couple of hours before dawn. Purposely making  
noise while walking, he stopped several feet behind the pretty blonde.   
  
"Ms. Vetter?" the vampire asked politely.   
  
Tracy whirled around, her hand sliding under her coat. After staring at  
him for a moment, she seemed to determine that he wasn't dangerous. Silly  
woman, he thought. I *am* a threat.   
  
"Mr. LaCroix, isn't it?" she asked him. "If you need police help, you  
should talk to the desk sergeant at the precinct."   
  
"I am not in need of assistance," he assured her, "But I am afraid you  
are."   
  
Her hand inched back toward her gun. "What do you mean?"   
  
"I would prefer not to discuss this in the hallway. Perhaps we could  
adjourn to your sitting room?" he asked, putting a little hypnotic power  
into the suggestion. Tracy narrowed her eyes at him.   
  
"Uh-uh, buddy. You're going to beat it." she told him, now aggressively  
reaching for her gun.   
  
LaCroix sighed. He hadn't wanted to do this in the first place, really.   
She tempted him, and he thought it best to look at her from a distance.   
LaCroix had promised not to meddle with the mortals in Nicholas' life, and  
now, his son forced him to do it.   
  
And Tracy wasn't making it easy ... which he found strangely compelling.   
He would simply have to be more forward with her than he had intended.   
  
"I was acquainted with your departed friend Vachon." Tracy's eyes widened.  
"I believe we can be of assistance to each other in the current  
situation."   
  
Tracy stared hard at him for several seconds, then turned and unlocked her  
door. She waved him in as she headed across the sitting area to her  
bedroom. He pushed the door closed behind him, only then noticing the  
cross hanging from it. Scanning the rest of the room, he noticed crosses  
on the windowsills and other doorknobs. Good, he thought She is hardly  
oblivious to the danger. Of course, she had just let him in, so she was  
not too cautious.   
  
He looked around the small apartment as Tracy moved around in the bedroom.   
It had been nearly two months since he had actually been inside. The last  
time, he had wiped the pretty detective's memory of vampires, though it  
hadn't worked for very long. Since then, he had merely looked in the  
windows, a spy on Tracy's life. She had cleaned up in the past few days, a  
fact of which he was glad. Her slovenliness seemed out of character, and  
he found that he was becoming fond of her character.   
  
*****  
  
Tracy stood just inside the door of her bedroom. She was just stalling  
now, she knew. She wasn't entirely sure that the man in her living room  
was a human being. Once she started paying attention, she realized that,  
even though he looked entirely different from Vachon, there were many  
similarities. They both had pale, near-perfect skin; they moved with an  
unearthly smoothness; and their eyes had a piercing quality. This LaCroix  
could very well be a vampire.   
  
And she had let him into her apartment.   
  
Taking a deep breath, Tracy pushed open the door. Her guest was standing  
in front of her book shelf, looking at the selections. As she watched, he  
pulled out one of her favorite books from her childhood, "Winnie the Pooh."  
He thumbed through it, then put it back.   
  
"Mr. LaCroix -- " she began.   
  
He turned around and interrupted, "LaCroix is acceptable ... Lucien, if you  
prefer."   
  
"LaCroix," she said pointedly, "Would you like to sit down?" She hesitated  
at her next question. "May I get you a drink?"   
  
LaCroix smiled slightly. "I will gladly accept the seat, but I'm afraid I  
must decline the drink."   
  
They sat down, LaCroix on her sofa and Tracy in a chair with a clear path  
to the front door. She shifted nervously in her seat, but her guest sat  
perfectly ... unnaturally still.   
  
"You said that we might be of assistance to each other," she said. "How?"   
  
He paused and looked thoughtful before answering, as if considering what to  
tell her.   
  
"We have a mutual acquaintance, Javier Vachon," he began slowly, as if  
carefully choosing each word. "I believe you and I might have reason to  
believe that he has not ... moved on as much as we previously thought."   
  
Tracy was not sure what to think. He was being very circumspect, but she  
suspected, for good reason. She remembered Vachon telling her how  
dangerous it was for mortals to know of the existence of vampires. If this  
LaCroix was a vampire, then a.) he didn't know that she knew about  
vampires; b.) he did know, but thought that she still had no memories of  
it; c.) he was trying to not say he was a vampire; d.) he was attempting to  
protect her from other vampires; or e.) was just playing games with her.   
Each was likely and unlikely for a number of reasons. She could always  
just up and ask him. She had a head of garlic and a vial of holy water in  
her pocket, so she should be protected if he attacked.   
  
Tracy shook her head. This speculation was getting her no where. For the  
time being, she should probably just focus on the topic at hand.   
  
"What evidence do you have?" she asked her visitor. "And what evidence do  
you think I have?"   
  
"To be honest, I have no proof that would satisfy your detective heart."   
He smiled thinly. "I have a ... hunch. And you ... you have evidence.   
And fresh bruises." He pointed.   
  
Tracy got up to look in the mirror. He was right. There was a light  
purple bruise on her neck, just above the collar line. Damn. She must  
have gotten it in the tussle in the church; she was going to have to wear a  
high-collared top tomorrow. She sat back down.   
  
"A suspect in a current case," she said dismissively. "I have no evidence  
for Vachon's return. He left. I don't know where he went."   
  
"Ms. Vetter, we both know better than that," he said in a disappointed  
tone. "I realize that you might be hesitant to share any information with  
me, but I really do have your best interests at heart. Sometimes it pays  
to take a risk, my dear, to trust those you have no reason to. What else  
do you have? Loneliness? Despair?" He waved his hand around. "An empty  
home at the end of the day? What do you have to lose? Think more on what  
you have to gain. Think of the relief to share the burden with someone who  
can help. Someone willing to *share* that burden. Not having to sit in a  
darkened room, staring into the black, thinking on the past, reaching after  
what you can no longer have. I can be that succor you desire. All you  
must do is trust me."   
  
Tracy felt herself wanting to agree. It sounded so true, so right. It  
sounded so *easy*. LaCroix's voice was so soothing and so ... familiar,  
like she had heard it in a dream ... She forced herself to shake her head,  
as much at herself as at him.   
  
"No," she whispered, her voice rough. "I don't know you. And this is not  
my burden to give up."   
  
"So you punish yourself?" he asked, his voice mocking. "You let your  
beauty fester in the dark like a beautiful lily left to wilt. Strength is  
not the end all and be all of existence. There are times when it pays to  
show weakness."   
  
"Please," Tracy said, standing up, "I think it's time for you to leave.   
I've heard all I'm going to listen to tonight."   
  
LaCroix stood. "Should you change your mind, please contact me." He  
dropped a Raven matchbook on the table. "I do mean it, Ms. Vetter. You  
are wasting your life living in the darkness alone."   
  
Without saying more, he allowed Tracy to show him out. When she closed and  
locked the door, Tracy leaned against it. Slowly, she slid down until she  
was sitting on the floor.   
  
In some ways, he was right. She was forcing herself to keep this burden.   
No one was making her do it but herself. But it was right that she at  
least *try* to work it out alone. She couldn't let Vachon, if that's who  
it was, be a lamb for LaCroix's slaughter.   
  
*****  
  
Natalie dropped her keys on the kitchen counter and opened the fridge. She  
really needed to go to the grocery store; it was nearly empty. With a  
"mroww," Sidney twined himself around her legs, looking meaningfully at the  
cupboard where his food was kept. Natalie closed the fridge and looked  
down at the beggar.   
"I'm not that late," she told him. "You are *not* starving."   
  
"Mrowwwwww!" Sidney complained.   
  
"You're not going to leave me alone until I feed you, are you?" Natalie  
sighed and opened the cupboard. "I'm such a sucker."   
  
Natalie fed her beast, then looked at the clock. It was 9:00 AM. That was  
late enough for her to make a call to a day person.   
  
She had looked at studies on serotonin for the rest of her night at work,  
but still hadn't come up with anything. She just didn't know enough about  
brain chemistry to ferret out the important parts of the studies. She had  
decided that this would be the perfect way to get back in touch with her  
friend Laura. Sure, they had quit seeing each other when they realized  
that they only talked about work, but this would be a good way to re-open  
the conversation. They didn't need to only talk about brain chemistry.   
  
Looking up the number of Laura's office in her address book, Natalie dialed  
and waited while it rang.   
  
"Sunnydale Care Clinic. How may I help you?" a cheery voice said.   
  
"Hi. May I speak with Dr. Haynes?" Natalie asked.   
  
"I'm sorry, she's not in yet. May I take a message or direct you to one of  
our other doctors?" the cheery voice asked.   
  
"No, that's OK. This is her friend Dr. Lambert; I was just calling to  
chat." Natalie was disappointed; she'd really wanted to talk to Laura.   
  
"Dr. Lambert! This is Michelle!" the now-identified voice said.   
  
"Hi, Michelle, how have you been?" Natalie asked, while trying desperately  
to remember what she could about Laura's receptionist. "How are your  
kids?"   
  
"Oh, they're great! Thomas is three now, and Georgie is six." She paused.  
"You know, Dr. Lambert, I'm getting kind of worried about Dr. Haynes.   
She's never late, and she's missed her first appointment."   
  
"Oh, I wouldn't worry," Natalie reassured the receptionist. "Traffic is  
awful this morning. It took me 20 minutes to travel ten miles this  
morning. Tell you what, why don't you just have Laura call me when she  
gets in."   
  
"Sure. I'll do that. Nice talking to you, Dr. Lambert!" without waiting  
for a goodbye, Michelle hung up.   
  
Natalie hung up the phone and wandered out into the living room. Plopping  
down on the sofa, she kicked off her shoes. She had really hoped to talk  
to Laura. Not just about serotonin, but about ... things.   
  
She was feeling that her life was so empty lately. All she did was work,  
have the occasional video night with Nick, and play with Sidney. She  
wanted more than that. She wanted more from Nick. Since talking with  
LaCroix, she knew that she needed some sort of resolution of the situation.  
Strangely, she was grateful to LaCroix. Even if all of this was some sort  
of devious plan of his, it had opened her eyes to Nick. Nick had never  
told her so much about his life and his loves. He had kept her sheltered  
and protected.   
  
But damn it, she didn't want to be sheltered! She wanted to share life  
with him. If only there was a way to make him truly understand that. What  
was it going to take to make him make a decision?   
  
*****  
  
Nick flipped through the channels on his television, like he had been doing  
since the sun came up. He couldn't sleep, yet he couldn't go out and work  
on the case. His thoughts just kept racing.   
  
Natalie was upset with him, though she was happy to work with him on the  
case. He wasn't sure why she was upset, only that she had seemed more and  
more discontented every day. He didn't know what to do. When he tried to  
talk to her about it, which, admittedly wasn't very often, she just ended  
up frustrated when, as she claimed, he just didn't listen to what she was  
saying.   
  
He did listen, though. He just didn't know what to say. He loved her, but  
it was so complicated. There was no way he could ever be what she wanted,  
unless he became mortal. And after years of trying, that didn't seem to be  
happening. Natalie's science hadn't helped any more than the many mystical  
cures he'd tried. He looked down at the glass of blood in his hand, his  
third refill already this morning. Of course, he wasn't working as hard at  
Nat's regimen as he could be.   
  
He sighed and got up, heading for the kitchen. He carefully dumped the  
blood down the drain, then rinsed out the wineglass. He pulled the blender  
out of the cupboard and was about to make one of Natalie's noxious shakes  
when the phone rang.   
  
"Saved by the bell," he mumbled to himself and went to the phone.   
  
Glancing at his brand-new Caller-ID, he noticed that it was the Raven.   
What does LaCroix want? he thought, Unless he spoke with Tracy already  
...   
  
He snatched up the phone. "LaCroix."   
  
"Knight ..." spoke the raspy voice they had tentatively identified as  
Vachon's. "Knight, you have to stop her. She's done it again. Stop me,  
please."   
  
"Vachon?" Nick asked carefully.   
  
There was a strangled cry and then the phone went dead. Nick swore, then  
dialed LaCroix's private line. After moment, his vampire father picked up.  
  
  
"LaCroix, I just received another call. This time from the Raven," he said  
quickly.   
  
"Thank you, Nicholas," LaCroix answered, then the phone again went dead.   
  
"At least he said thanks," Nick muttered to himself.   
  
*****  
  
LaCroix dropped the phone in to the cradle and, quicker than a mortal's  
eyes could ever follow, was in the middle of the Raven's dance floor. He  
extended his senses through the darkened club, determining that no one was  
there. Again moving very quickly, he was in the cellar, outside the open  
door to Urs' room.   
  
The curtains on the bed were settling, as if there had recently been  
movement in the room. He glanced over and saw that the wardrobe hiding the  
bolt hole was shoved aside, as if someone had been in too great of a hurry  
to hide their tracks. LaCroix focused his mental senses and felt the same  
insane mental struggle he had recognized before. With barely a thought, he  
streaked down the tunnel after it.   
  
LaCroix could feel the vampire like an echo in his head. It wasn't  
precise, but it was enough to track. He slowed down when he felt his  
quarry stop. He was almost positive that he had gone undetected, but he  
wanted to be sure. Edging around a corner, he saw a room lit with small  
white lights strung across the ceiling and walls. He could hear movement  
outside of his line of sight. He carefully calculated where the individual  
was, then lunged forward.   
  
In a moment, he held a struggling, hissing vampire up against the wall.   
  
It was the Spaniard, Javier Vachon.   
  
*****  
  
Tracy waited until the sun was completely up, then headed back to the  
station. Sitting at her desk, she endured the stares of the day shift.   
And, she admitted, she deserved the stares. She was still wearing what she  
had worn to work last night, she had a nice bruise blooming on her neck,  
and she generally looked frazzled. That didn't bother her too much though.  
She wanted to be left alone, and her general appearance, combined with the  
look on her face, undoubtedly was doing the trick. No one had once  
questioned what she was doing.   
  
She was doing some illicit searching for Lucien LaCroix, and had found  
amazingly little. He had taken over the deed to the Raven a couple years  
ago, and the last owner had owned the place for twenty years. Her name was  
familiar, too, though she wasn't sure why. Other than the Raven deed,  
though, there was no record of LaCroix entering Canada or having any sort  
of official documentation: not a birth certificate, drivers' license, or  
passport.   
  
Tracy found it very odd. Even Vachon had been very careful about papers,  
making sure he was properly in the system. She knew how easy it was, with  
sufficient money, to get anything on the black market. So why didn't  
Lucien LaCroix exist? He could have papers under another name, but that  
seemed unlikely when his ownership of the Raven was under LaCroix.   
  
Could he be planning to leave? Maybe he had all the records of his  
existence here in Toronto erased. Tracy was sure that with the lavish  
application of cash, that it wouldn't be difficult to accomplish. There  
might be one less blood-sucker in Toronto soon, then. She should be happy  
about that, she knew, but, for some strange reason, she wasn't.   
  
*****  
  
Natalie sat at the bay window in her rocking chair. She couldn't really  
see the lake anymore since her eyesight had gotten so much worse these past  
few years, but she liked the feel of the sun on her face. Reaching to her  
lap, she pet Sidney -- no, it wasn't Sidney. He had died fifteen years  
ago. This cat was Dru, also in her twilight years.   
  
Dru was her only friend now. Oh, sure, there was the nice young woman who  
brought her some meals and the nurse who came to make sure she was taking  
her medication, but they weren't really friends. You didn't have to pay  
friends to come and see you. She was alone now. Nick had left suddenly,  
right before Sidney had died. It had been getting difficult for him to  
hide what he was; he never aged, after all. She had gone to his loft one  
night to find the furniture sheeted and all of his mementos gone. She had  
never heard from him again, except for a handwritten note that came to her  
office. All it said was "Sorry."   
  
Then, slowly over the years, the rest of her friends, few though they were,  
had either died or just drifted away. She was alone. She had worked her  
whole life and had nothing to show from it. No Nobel Prize, no scientific  
articles, no cure for vampirism. No children, no family. She was alone.   
Alone.   
  
The phone began to ring, but she didn't bother to answer it. She was alone  
--   
  
With a jolt, Natalie sat up in bed, bouncing an annoyed Sidney off of the  
end. She reached for the phone, picking it up just before her answering  
machine did.   
  
"Hello?" she asked sleepily.   
  
"Dr. Lambert? This is Michelle, Dr. Haynes' receptionist," her cheerful  
voice said. "Did I wake you?"   
  
"Yeah, but it's OK," Natalie said, looking at the clock. "I have to get up  
for work anyway. What can I do for you?"   
  
"Well, it's just that I'm worried about Dr. Haynes. She never called it  
today or showed up, and she didn't answer any phone calls or pages,"  
Michelle said, sounding much less cheerful. "My little Georgie is in a  
school play tonight, or I'd go over and check on her myself, but ..."   
  
"Don't worry about it, Michelle," Natalie reassured her. "I'll stop by on  
my way to work."   
  
"Oh, thank you, Dr. Lambert!" she said, sounding like her happy self again.  
"I've got to go, but you'll ring me tomorrow?"   
  
"Of course. Bye, Michelle," said Natalie.   
  
Michelle said goodbye, and Natalie hung up the phone. Then, with a  
shudder, she remembered her dream. She didn't want to end up like that: an  
old woman, alone but for a cat. It was time to take control of the  
relationships in her life. She would see what was up with Laura, then  
maybe it was time to have a serious discussion with Nick.   
  
*****  
  
After a moment, the vampire in LaCroix's grip stopped fighting and relaxed.  
Vachon seemed almost relieved to be caught. Once it appeared that he  
would not try to escape, the ancient vampire released his quarry. The  
Spaniard slid down the wall and huddled on the floor, his shoulders  
shaking. After few seconds, LaCroix realized that they shook from tears.   
  
"What is going on?" he hissed. "You are supposed to be dead."   
  
"I know!" Vachon cried through his sobs. "Tracy took the stake out and  
buried me ... alive. I came back when I heard her wake up. I couldn't let  
her go out there alone!"   
  
"When Tracy woke up?" LaCroix asked. "When her memories came back?"   
  
"No!" Vachon whispered. "Her."   
  
"Who?" LaCroix demanded.   
  
"I can't ..." the younger vampire whimpered. "She'll hurt me. It hurts so  
much ... It feels so good ..."   
  
LaCroix scowled at the vampire crouched at his feet. He was obviously  
terrified. Even without a blood tie, he could feel the fear radiating from  
him as easily as if he were Nicholas. He reassessed his method of  
questioning. This one was currently being tortured by fear and would be  
better served by kindness.   
  
"Come," he said softly and extended a hand. "You need not stay here in  
this hole."   
  
Vachon looked suspiciously at him. "I like this hole. What do you want  
with me?"   
  
"I want to help you, of course!" LaCroix answered, feigning surprise. "And  
I want to get to the bottom of this."   
  
"I didn't do it," Vachon muttered sullenly, beginning to rock back and  
forth. "*She* did it. She made me *watch*. She made me *feel* it."   
Suddenly, he looked up imploringly at the elder vampire. "Help me! Stop  
her! Don't let her do it again!"   
  
LaCroix sighed. It was the hard way then. He raised his hand up, and,  
with considerable force, smashed Vachon in the temple. The Spaniard  
slumped the remainder of the distance to the floor. When LaCroix was sure  
the other was unconscious, he lifted him over his shoulder and turned  
toward the Raven. With any luck, Vachon would remain insensible for the  
trip back.   
  
*****  
  
Tracy tapped the matchbook on the table in front of her. She was sitting  
at her dining room table as she had for the past hour, trying to decide  
what to do. After searching for LaCroix in the computers, she had come  
home and gone to sleep. When she had awoken a few hours ago, she had  
decided to take the presumed vampire up on his offer of help. She was just  
so tired of trying to do this alone ... whatever it was she was trying to  
do.   
  
She needed to find out if Vachon was really alive, and, if so, how and why.  
Tracy was pretty sure that LaCroix's offer of help was genuine. He might  
have his own agenda, but, with any luck, it would coincide with hers enough  
to glean some useful information.   
  
She was reaching for the phone to call the Raven when it rang.   
  
"Hello?" she asked, almost expecting it to be LaCroix.   
  
"Detective Vetter?" a young male voice asked. "This is Jake Harris. I'm  
staking out that abandoned church."   
  
"Yeah?" she asked. "What's up?"   
  
"Well, a young woman just left it, and I never saw her go in," he said. "I  
was watching really closely, though!"   
  
"It's ok, Jake," she reassured him. "What does she look like?"   
  
"She's a real looker: tall, shoulder length curly blonde hair, fair skin."   
The officer hesitated. "Tight black miniskirt and top. She was wearing  
heels but walked like they were sneakers! You don't need me to follow her,  
do you?" he asked, sounding hopeful.   
  
"No," Tracy replied. "Just keep a lookout there."   
  
She hung up, so preoccupied that she didn't say goodbye. Who could the  
woman be? Tracy would bet she was a vampire. And if Jake hadn't seen her  
go in, then she either was in there when Tracy was there, or she had  
entered during the hour it had taken to set up surveillance.   
  
Tracy tried to remember if Vachon had ever mentioned any female vampires.   
He had been careful when telling her stories, never mentioning any names,  
but she seemed to remember a story about Las Vegas that involved a female  
vampire and Screed. She couldn't remember the details, though it had been  
funny at the time. Vachon had talked about the vampire as if she was still  
around, though, so maybe she was. As a matter of fact, she vaguely  
remembered seeing Screed at the Raven with a beautiful blonde. She had to  
be a vampire, because, after all, what would a beautiful woman have to do  
with Screed otherwise?   
  
It was time to call LaCroix.   
  
She dialed the number on the matchbook. After a moment, she got a message,  
recorded in LaCroix's voice.   
  
"You have reached the Raven, a veritable palace of decadence. To explore  
this week's offerings for your amusement, press one. To reach the  
Nightcrawler, press two. For more ... intimate ... attention, press  
three."   
  
After a moment of hesitation, Tracy pressed three. She really hoped this  
wasn't going to connect her to a phone sex line. The line began to ring  
and, after a moment, it was answered.   
  
"What?" LaCroix asked, his voice sounding irritated.   
  
"Uh ... LaCroix, this is Tracy Vetter. I've decided to take you up on your  
offer." she said hesitatingly.   
  
"Ms. Vetter, I'm very glad. However, this is not a good time." Tracy  
heard a howl in the background, one that sounded almost human. "Perhaps  
you could stop by later this evening?"   
  
"But I--" Tracy began.   
  
"This is *not* a good time!" LaCroix repeated and slammed down the phone.   
  
Tracy very carefully hung up the phone. "Fine." she said out loud, her  
voice full of controlled anger. "That's how you want to play it?"   
  
She would see LaCroix as soon as she could tonight. Then she would very  
calmly inform him of what would happen if he ever did that to her again.   
And maybe then she would stake him if her temper didn't improve.   
  
*****  
  
Nick was outside her door when Natalie opened it. He'd thought about going  
to straight to the coroner's office and talking to her there, but he wanted  
to make it separate from work. Recently, they'd only been interacting  
through work, and he wanted to change that.   
  
"Nick!" a surprised Natalie said. "What are you doing here?"   
  
"I thought I would give you a ride to work tonight," he said, "I thought we  
could talk."   
  
"Um ... OK, but I have an errand to run first," she replied, closing the  
door behind her. "It's on the way, though."   
  
"Sure, no problem."   
  
They moved down the hall and into the car. Natalie explained her errand  
and Nick agreed that it sounded easy enough to do. As they drove to her  
friend's house, Nick kept trying to bring up the topic he wanted to: their  
relationship, or, rather lack thereof. He needed to explain, once and for  
all, that, though he loved her, he couldn't see a way that they could be  
together.   
  
But he just couldn't bring himself to do it.   
  
Natalie didn't seem to interested in talking either. She was preoccupied,  
but that was reasonable, with her friend unaccounted for. They would talk  
later, then, he decided.   
  
The pulled into the driveway of a small one-story house in a wooded lot.   
The front porch light was on, but Nick could see, as they both got out of  
the Caddy, that the mail hadn't been taken inside for at least a day.   
  
"Maybe she went off to have a steamy fling," Natalie joked as they walked  
up the path to the front door, but Nick could feel her heartbeat speed up  
in nervousness. "Probably ran off with a patient."   
  
Natalie knocked on the door, but there was no answer.   
  
"Stay here, Nat, and try again, maybe she's asleep," Nick said. "I'll take  
a look around back."   
  
Without waiting for an answer, Nick moved off around the side of the  
building. When he rounded the corner to the back garden, he saw a light on  
through a window. Pulling over a wooden bench, he peered into the  
bathroom. After only a quick look, he had seen all he needed to.   
  
*****  
  
LaCroix had the younger vampire locked behind a wrought iron gate in one of  
the bedrooms. His guest had requested it, citing fear of "her." He would  
still not reveal who this woman was, and when LaCroix had attempted to  
force the issue, Vachon had become violent, howling and crying. Only when  
LaCroix promised that he wouldn't make the Spaniard answer the question was  
there again quiet. It rankled LaCroix that the pretty Ms. Vetter had  
chosen that time to call. If she had let down her defenses enough to  
phone, then it may have been important. He would attempt to track her down  
later. He had more important concerns at the moment, however.   
  
Now, his pseudo-prisoner sat on a bed and swayed gently. He had not  
volunteered any information, but he had requested blood, and LaCroix had  
searched his stash for a suitably calming influence. Finally, he found a  
Buddhist monk, who, even when he was being killed, had felt no fear, only  
anticipation and calm. LaCroix had never enjoyed that sort of blood  
himself -- there was little flavor to it -- but he believed that it might  
now become useful.   
  
Passing the bottle through the bars, Vachon came and snatched it from it  
and drank as if he were starving. When he finished, he closed his eyes and  
sighed. When he opened his eyes again, they were less frantic and insane  
than previously.   
  
"Thank you," he told LaCroix. "It's not going to last too long, but I'm  
grateful."   
  
LaCroix nodded. "Can you tell me what's going on?"   
  
"*Someone*," Vachon said meaningfully, "Is doing terrible things to  
mortals. I've tried to stop her, but I can't. She's grown too strong.   
Maybe if I had tried sooner ..." he trailed off, then shook his head.   
"Tracy is in danger. You've got to tell her. She's jealous. She always  
has been."   
  
"Surely you don't mean Tracy is jealous?" LaCroix asked, confused.   
  
"No! *She* is." the Spaniard shook his head in frustration. "If I say her  
name or try to tell you who she is, she'll know. I'm sorry. I'm not  
trying to be difficult."   
  
LaCroix believed him. Already, though, the insane gleam was sneaking back  
into his prisoner's eyes. LaCroix reached into the cage and took the  
bottle; it would do no good to provide a weapon if he became overwrought  
again. Making sure the gate was securely locked, LaCroix closed the door  
behind him and headed upstairs.   
  
He had decided not to open the club this evening. There was a sign on the  
door and he had called his mortal wait staff and given them the night off.   
He was surprised, then, to discover someone sitting casually at the bar.   
  
An Enforcer.   
  
One could always recognize them. They rarely fully hid their vampiric  
nature, since they mostly dealt with vampires. This one was male and  
casually sipping from a wine glass. He looked up as LaCroix walked around  
the back of the bar.   
  
"Good evening," LaCroix said casually. "I'm afraid we're closed for the  
evening."   
  
"Yes, so I saw," the Enforcer said.   
  
After a long minute of silence, LaCroix realized that it was not going to  
be easy to discover of this visit until the Enforcer was ready to reveal  
it. Instead of wasting his time in fruitless questioning, LaCroix poured  
himself a drink. He would simply wait.   
  
*****  
  
Natalie sat on the arm of the chair and looked into the bathroom down the  
hallway. It was filled with police now, but it hadn't been at first.   
  
Nick had come back around to the front of the house, and just by the look  
on his face, Natalie could tell that something was wrong. Without saying  
anything, he had shoved the door and broken the locks. Going inside,  
Natalie had followed him into the bathroom.   
  
Only the top of Laura's head could be seen in the bloody water. When she  
had instinctively reached for her friend, Nick had held back her hand,  
saying something about "preserving the scene." Nick must have gone then to  
call the station then, because she was alone when she found the envelope  
with her name on it. She had almost known what it would be. Until she  
opened it, though, she hadn't understood why Laura would have left it to  
her.   
  
Now she did. She was like Laura, throwing herself into work while  
neglecting a real life. Her dream today had been a prophesy of what was to  
come if she didn't change.   
  
LaCroix had told her something that she had tried to ignore during their  
time at the coffee shop.   
  
"I understand the need to move on," he had said. "It is something that  
happens to us all, and your time has truly come. I also understand that  
with the beauty of this life there comes pain ... and despair ... No one  
is immune ... But consider what you have in your hands before you give it  
up." He had looked deep into her eyes then. "Don't trade a treasure for  
an empty box."   
  
LaCroix was right, she hated to admit. Nick would never let himself love  
her unless she forced his hand. He would leave her, eventually. She  
wouldn't let him do that. She wouldn't let him go. They would be  
together, no matter what.   
  
*****  
  
Tracy stood in the bathroom watching the uniforms take photographs of the  
body. This third suicide they'd investigated this week. How cheerful.   
She'd gotten a call from the captain just as she was about to leave for the  
station and had come straight here instead.   
  
Natalie wasn't taking it well, but that wasn't too surprising. It's one  
thing to have one of your friends commit suicide, but another to find the  
body. And her friend had left a suicide note addressed to Nat, too. That  
was ... almost cruel. Did Laura Haynes realize how much she had hurt  
Natalie?   
  
Probably not. She had been too wrapped up in her own pain. Tracy could  
understand that. Until just last night, she had been, too. But now, with  
unusual things happening, she felt alive again. But Dr. Haynes had been a  
psychiatrist; she should have known the injury this would do to her friend.  
  
  
Tracy turned and saw Nick just standing next to Natalie. He didn't seem to  
be very comforting, but, Natalie didn't seem to be conscious of very much  
right now. Nick saw Tracy looking and walked into the bathroom.   
  
"Psychiatrist," Tracy said, nodding to the body in the bath. "I'm guessing  
nobody saw this coming."   
  
"Not even one of her closest friends." Nick looked at Natalie, who was  
simply staring at nothing. "I guess you never really know your friends, do  
you?"   
  
"No, I guess not," Tracy answered. I sure didn't really know Vachon, she  
thought.   
  
"Tracy, would you do me a favor?" Nick asked. "Finish up here. I want to  
get Nat out of here."   
  
"Okay," Tracy replied, leaning against the doorjamb behind her   
  
Nick moved over to Natalie and leaned to whisper in her ear. After a brief  
look of confusion, Natalie got up and followed him out. Natalie looked  
broken. She didn't need to leave, she needed for this to never have  
happened. A time machine. That would fix it.   
  
"Sure," Tracy said aloud. "A time machine."   
  
"Detective?" one of the officers photographing the body asked. "Are you  
all right?"   
  
"Yeah," Tracy said. "Just wishing for Natalie." She smiled wryly at them.  
"Do you guys have it under control here?"   
  
"Sure," the same officer replied. "Why don't you take off? We're about to  
bag her anyway."   
  
"I think I will," Tracy said, pulling the Raven matchbook out of her coat  
pocket. "I've got some other business to take care of."   
  
*****  
  
Natalie had been silent during the entire car ride except to direct him to  
the morgue, rather than her apartment. A few minutes after they had  
arrived, the gurney holding her friend's body had been wheeled in. Natalie  
had issue instructions to her staff as if it hadn't been one of her best  
friends in the black bag in front of her. She had insisted on being  
allowed to do the autopsy, and, eventually, her staff had relented.   
  
Nick now stood in the hallway outside of her lab while Natalie read through  
her friend's journal. She looked so small sitting there. He wanted to  
comfort her, but he didn't know how. He was always the one who brought  
death; he didn't comfort his victims' families afterward.   
  
Natalie cleared her voice and began to read aloud.   
  
"'Do as I've asked, not as I've done. Don't let yourself become empty.'"   
She looked up at him. "The first time I've lost someone to suicide. The  
first time I've have a suicide note addressed to me. A night of firsts.   
You know, I think Dr. Laura Haynes in there was right on the money when she  
pegged me as a kindred spirit."   
  
"Nat," Nick said, frustrated by her reaction, "She took her own life. She  
must have had some pretty big problems."   
  
Natalie stood and raised an eyebrow at him.   
  
"You think so? You know, I used to think suicide was a pretty big  
sacrilege." She walked to the door of her lab. "But I'm not so sure  
anymore."   
  
"Nat, don't talk like that," Nick said quickly.   
  
"Why not?" she asked heatedly, stopping at the closed door. "You've  
considered it yourself."   
  
She took a deep breath, then entered the lab. Nick followed her.   
  
She was right, of course. He had considered suicide, several times, in  
fact. He had never been able to go through with it, though. Maybe he was  
just a coward. Natalie was brave; if she made up her mind to kill herself,  
she would go through with it. He didn't want that to happen.   
  
Natalie was standing over the sheeted body, the journal still in her hands.  
She was just staring at nothing.   
  
"Nat," he said, "Maybe you shouldn't do the work on this case."   
  
"You know, Laura never reached out in life to me for help. I owe her this  
much," she said firmly. "To see that everything is properly done, now that  
she's gone. I can handle it. But you know what I can't handle? I think I  
understand her and that scares me to death."   
  
*****  
  
LaCroix had sat silently with the Enforcer for twenty minutes before the  
other vampire had spoken.   
  
"You know why I'm here?" the Enforcer had asked.   
  
"I suspect," LaCroix had answered dryly.   
  
"There have been too many violations of the Code in this city of late,  
LaCroix," the other vampire told him. "Mortals who know what we are,  
unhidden killings, attacks on our own kind." He looked at LaCroix in  
disgust. "You even managed to unleash a plague upon our people.   
  
"I should kill all involved, but I was told to inform you that you may  
leave now without repercussions," he said, sounding as if he disagreed with  
what he said. "However, if you remain at sunset tomorrow, you and your  
son, Nicholas, will die. The mortals will be taken care of." The Enforcer  
raised an eyebrow at him. "Unless you bring them across, of course."   
  
"Of course," LaCroix said noncommittally. "Is that all? It appears I have  
arrangements to make."   
  
"That is all. I will see myself out." The Enforcer stood and walked to  
the door, but stopped before he left. "Sunset."   
  
LaCroix snarled as the door swung shut behind the vampire. How dare that  
creature come in here and threaten what was his? He had taken care of all  
that he had been accused. The epidemic had been cured, the killings had  
been hidden, Divia had been killed, and the mortals were under control.   
How dare--   
  
But there was no time for this now. He would take his vengeance later.   
Now he had matters to attend to, the first of which was locked in his  
basement.   
  
*****  
  
Tracy had driven back to the station, trying to figure out a way of getting  
off early. She would first try asking, but then, she'd have to make  
something up. She spent the remainder of her drive rehearsing excuses in  
her head. Her father needed to see her (in the middle of the night?). She  
had to sit with a sick friend (used that one). She had to let in a plumber  
(again, in the middle of the night?). She needed to go see a vampire about  
some other vampires (but he'd never believe the truth). Finally, she had  
settled on being sick. She'd gotten pretty good at faking illness in  
school; she was pretty sure she could still do it.   
  
The first moment she could, she had corralled Captain Reese to talk to him.  
  
"How's Natalie holding up?" the captain asked her before she could get her  
little speech out.   
  
"Not well," she said. "You know, I think a suicide note addressed to her  
was a pretty mean thing to do. Nick's staying with her." She took a deep  
breath. "Anyway, there's no suggestion of foul play and everyone seems  
satisfied that Laura Haynes is a suicide, so ... "   
  
"So ... ?" her boss asked suspiciously.   
  
"So I was thinking of writing it up as such and maybe knocking off early  
for the night." It didn't look like he was going to buy it, so she added  
her little lie. Scrunching up her face and looking ill, she said,  
"Captain, I feel something coming on."   
  
"All right. Sure," he answered reluctantly. "The flu *is* going around.   
Tell you what: you go home, get some rest, get in bed --"   
  
He was cut off by yelling and the sounds of a scuffle from across the  
precinct's front room. Reese stormed over and yelled at the two officers  
and the man they were holding. The man, dressed in fatigues and looking  
very pale, kept yelling that he wasn't going back, and Reese told him to  
calm down. Why isn't he at least cuffed? Tracy wondered. He's  
obviously agitated.   
  
Reese finished yelling at them and come back over to finish their  
conversation. He barely made it to her, though, when with a yell, the man  
struggled and managed to get a gun from an officer. Tracy drew her gun and  
crouched down behind a concrete pillar. Damn, she thought. I don't  
have time for this tonight.   
  
*****  
  
Natalie clutched Laura's journal as if it were her lifeline. It felt like  
that. Laura had expressed the same fears as Natalie and had only been  
able to find one way out. Natalie didn't want to take that way, but she  
really did understand, and in some ways, it made perfect sense.   
  
Nick wasn't handling her reaction very well, but Natalie didn't care.   
Maybe, for once, he would understand that this wasn't about him. That  
there were other people in the world who hurt, too. That she had real  
feelings that couldn't be patched over with flowers and a card. They stood  
in silence.   
  
"Strange, isn't it?" Nick asked finally. "How something so personal  
becomes just another piece of evidence?"   
  
Natalie sighed to herself. He just didn't understand at all.   
  
"Not for me," she answered. "You know, when she and I would get together  
years ago, we'd talk for hours about our careers, professional gossip. We  
slowly came to realize that we never really talked about ourselves. And  
you know why? There was nothing to tell --our personal lives were  
nonexistent. That was a bit of a depressing discovery, and we sort of last  
touch after that.   
  
"Her leaving me the note and her journal -- she meant for me to learn from  
her mistakes," she said earnestly. "It's my wake-up call, Nick. Time to  
get a life."   
  
"You've got one and it's not empty," Nick protested.   
  
"Not now," she said. "Six years ago, April fourteenth."   
  
"What's that?" Nick asked, obviously confused.   
  
"The day they brought you in. My life changed that day." She looked hard  
at him. "I don't want to end up like Laura, Nick."   
  
"I won't let you," he reassured her.   
  
"Well, then, it's simple: you just have to love me as much as I love you."   
  
There. She had finally said it. Now it was up to him to respond. After a  
few long, stunned moments, he did.   
  
"I can't. You know I can't," he said frustratedly.   
  
"I've been wrong about a lot of things in my life, but I'm not wrong about  
this," she said, almost angrily. She should have said this months ago.   
"About what I feel from you. I'm asking for an end. For a resolution.   
I'm not willing to go on like this. We can be together."   
  
"I can't damn you into becoming what I am," Nick said.   
  
"There is a way!" Natalie exclaimed, then took a calming breath. "I have  
faith in you and whatever follows."   
  
Nick shook his head. "Nat, it's just too much to ask," he said, his  
frustration with her evident in his voice. "Whether I bring you across or  
not, either way it could be a death sentence."   
  
Natalie was really angry now. He wasn't even listening to her, just  
parroting his old, tired arguments. He couldn't believe that he might be  
wrong and she might be right. That she might be capable of making her own  
decisions.   
  
"A lonely existence like Laura's *is* a death sentence," she almost yelled.  
"With you there's at least hope. It's partly my decision, Nick. And I'm  
not afraid to try."   
  
*****  
  
LaCroix stopped at the top of the stairs. His prisoner was not alone down  
there. There was the strange echo that he had noticed in Vachon's thoughts  
in this new one. It felt so much like Divia, but he knew it wasn't. His  
beautiful, evil daughter was dead. But it appeared she was still in this  
world.   
  
He rushed down the stairs, but as he neared the room where Vachon was being  
held, he felt the second vampire was gone. He pushed open the door to see  
the Spaniard huddled in the corner, his arms hugging his knees, rocking  
back and forth. Though there was no blood between them, LaCroix could feel  
the frantic tenor of the younger vampire's thoughts. This must have been a  
visit from "her," whoever that was.   
  
LaCroix crouched down on his side of the bars, as near to the other vampire  
as he could. He didn't have much time or patience right now, but it looked  
like he would have to force both. Using the most calming voice he could  
muster, he spoke to the frightened vampire.   
  
"Vachon, she can't hurt you here. I will protect you." The other vampire  
continued to rock. "I vow to you that I will protect you."   
  
As much as I am able, he added silently. He watched Vachon, but there  
was no change, even after several minutes. It was time for a different,  
more direct tactic.   
  
He pushed up the sleeve of his black shirt, then stuck his bare forearm  
though the bars.   
  
"Drink," he told the frightened vampire.   
  
Vachon continued to rock. LaCroix sighed, then pulled his arm back out.   
Unfastening the sword pin from his collar, he drew the blade across his  
wrist, the blood instantly welling from the gash. Out of the corner of his  
eye, he noticed that Vachon had stopped rocking.   
  
The elder vampire again pushed his arm though the bars. It was a risk to  
allow this frightened creature to drink his blood. There would be an  
exchange, and LaCroix was not sure what he would get. Whatever it was,  
however, he was sure he could handle it better than this young one.   
  
With a suddenness that surprised LaCroix, the other vampire sprang across  
his small cell and fastened his teeth into the proffered arm. With a rush,  
LaCroix felt strength being drawn out of him, and he collapsed completely  
to the floor. He could sense the other's mind, and after a moment of  
hesitation, opened himself up to the feelings:   
  
***Beautiful golden eyes and piled high golden hair blended with the  
screaming face of a demon. "Do you have faith?" Sharp claws lunged at his  
face and gouged deeply. "Will your gods save you now?" The terrible  
darkness came and pulled him down. "What are the gods that they let *us*  
live?" The terror of awakening, covered with earth, unable to find which  
direction was up. "Faith cannot redeem *you* after what you've done." The  
call of the siren of golden eyes and hair, needing to live as she did, feel  
as she felt, lust as she lusted, destroy as she destroyed ... ***   
  
LaCroix felt his arm dropped, and after a few moments to collect himself,  
he opened his eyes. Vachon stood above him, looking down at him with  
determined eyes. The younger vampire pushed the gates he was behind and  
easily snapped the lock. In a rush, the Spaniard was gone.   
  
LaCroix pulled himself up from the floor. The images he had seen ... they  
were not Divia's, but the tenor of them was the same, that same terrible  
evil. His evil, bequeathed to his child in some horrible mockery of a  
birthday gift. After so many centuries, his own evil had infected another  
beauty.   
  
*****  
  
Nick stared at Natalie. She just wouldn't understand. What she was  
suggesting led only to damnation, hers, and his, all over again. He  
couldn't love her, no matter how much he wanted to. How could he ever  
explain that?   
He opened his mouth to tell her, but his cell phone rang. He answered it.   
  
"Knight here."   
  
"Detective?" a hurried voice said. "You need to get down to the station  
right away. We've got a prisoner loose with a gun."   
  
"I'm on my way," he said and hung up. He turned to Natalie. "There's a  
situation at the precinct -- a guy with a gun. Nat, I ..."   
  
"It's all right," Natalie answered with a sigh. "We'll talk later."   
  
Nick turned and nearly ran out of the building. Once outside, after  
quickly checking, he took to the air, then dropped, mere seconds later,  
near the 96th precinct. Squad cars ringed the station and Nick had to be  
sure to land out of sight. After flashing his badge, he was allowed to go  
inside.   
  
It was near chaos inside. After a moment, he saw the Captain and strode  
over to him.   
  
"Where is he?" Nick asked.   
  
"He took a weapon off of an officer," Reese said. "My guess is he's holed  
up in the locker room. I'm going to let him make the first move."   
  
"Who is he?" Nick asked.   
  
"Delbert Dawkins," Reese answered. "He's a transfer we're booking  
through."   
  
"I know him," Nick said and headed toward the locker rooms. "I've arrested  
him."   
  
"Knight! Get back here!" the captain called after him. "You're not a  
trained negotiator!" Nick turned the corner and headed down the stairs.   
"Damn it, Knight! You're going to get yourself shot!"   
  
As he reached the bottom of the stairwell, Knight could hear yelling from  
the men's locker room. He recognized Dawkins' voice.   
  
"I'm not going back there!" Dawkins yelled through sobs. "I'm not going  
back!"   
  
*****  
  
Tracy heard the door open, then her partner's voice echoed through the  
tiled room.   
  
"Dawkins? Dawkins, it's OK. It's me, Detective Knight."   
  
"Knight?" the prisoner -- Dawkins, apparently -- called out in a panicky  
voice. Tracy moved along the back wall, following the voice. "You'd  
better tell them to get a big body bag, 'cause that's the only way I'm  
going out of here!"   
  
Damn. He was suicidal. "Death by cop" seemed to be a popular way to go  
these days. If she could just get close enough, then she could take him  
out before he hurt himself or Nick. If her partner could just keep him  
busy ... She edged closer.   
  
"Dawkins, listen to me," Nick said. "You really don't want to die, do you?  
And I don't want you to hurt anyone. You wouldn't want to be responsible  
for that, now would you?"   
  
Nick was moving closer, Tracy could see. His gun wasn't drawn, though. He  
was going to try to hero-cop this one. Great, she thought. Just when I  
was really starting to like him, he's going to get himself killed. Well,  
she wasn't going to let that happen. She'd kill Dawkins herself if he made  
a move against her partner. She had to get a little nearer, though. She  
began to move even closer, around the lockers beyond her partner   
  
"I'm telling you," Dawkins yelled and pointed his gun at his own temple.   
"I'm not going back!"   
  
Tracy was now directly behind her partner, crouched down, using his body to  
hide her. Nick was in her way of a clear shot to Dawkins from this angle,  
though. If she was going to get a shot off without injuring Nick, she was  
going to have to stand up.   
  
"Dawkins, listen to me," Nick said. "Put the gun down on the floor."   
  
Nick's voice sounded strange, Tracy noticed. It almost had an echo.   
Dawkins stood very still in front of Nick, then his gun began to move. It  
looked like Dawkins was going to shoot. Tracy slowly stood up and raised  
her gun.   
  
"Kneel down," Nick continued in the odd voice, "And lay the gun very gently  
on the floor."   
  
"On the floor," the prisoner said quietly, and his gun arm began to slowly  
drop.   
  
Suddenly, Dawkins noticed Tracy and with a loud, terrified yell, he raised  
his weapon and fired.   
  
Tracy felt something slam into her abdomen, but she didn't notice any pain.  
Her eyes were on her partner, who, after the shot had gone *through* his  
abdomen, turned toward her ... with golden eyes and pointed teeth. She  
noticed the pain then, just as another shot was fired. Suddenly, pain  
exploded in the back of her head and her legs began to give away. Slamming  
against the wall, she slid to the floor.   
  
It made sense now. The voice. The night shift. The never joining her for  
dinner. She had risked her life for someone who couldn't be killed by a  
bullet. She felt so stupid. Why hadn't she seen? Why hadn't he told her?  
  
  
He came running toward her, calling her name. She tried to answer, but she  
couldn't seem to get enough saliva in her mouth. Nick was still shouting,  
but it didn't seem to be at her. She tried again to speak and succeeded.   
  
"You could have trusted me," she whispered. Then, her strength gone, she  
gave into the pain.   
  
*****  
  
LaCroix grunted and nearly dropped his wine glass was he felt a stabbing  
pain in his gut. Carefully placing his glass on the bar, he looked down,  
almost surprised not to see blood dribbling down his clothes. He knew what  
a bullet felt like, and that had been one. It must have been Nicholas who  
had been shot then. Not an unusual occurrence, he had to admit. He was  
surprised no one on the police force had noticed. After all, LaCroix could  
only follow his son to the hospital so many times.  
  
Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with a sense of panic. Nicholas, again, he  
realized, once he clamped down on his emotional link to his son. This was  
stronger than anything he had felt from Nicholas in years, and his  
curiosity was peaked. Carefully reopening the mental link, he was assailed  
by half-formed images and feelings of panic. Disappointment, blood on his  
hands, blonde hair coated in blood, calls for help, the smell of apricots  
... Tracy Vetter. LaCroix would recognize the scent of Ms. Vetter's blood  
anywhere. She had been shot, but was not yet dead.  
  
LaCroix again blocked his son's emotions and pondered the situation. From  
Nicholas' perspective, it seemed as if his partner was severely wounded.   
Likely, she would die; LaCroix had very little faith in mortals' medical  
prowess. So, it seemed the ancient vampire was at a crossroads. He could  
let the beautiful and intelligent Tracy Vetter die, and teach his son a  
lesson, or he could bring the woman across, and teach his son a different  
lesson.  
  
He would think on it. LaCroix knew that Nicholas would soon come to him  
for help. He always did, in situations like this. Depending on his son's  
demeanor, LaCroix would make his decision. Besides, they were leaving  
tonight ... whether Nicholas liked it or not.  
  
*****  
  
Natalie was nearly done with the autopsy when the phone rang. She almost  
let the machine get it, but instead, she peeled off her gloves and picked  
it up.  
  
"Lambert," she answered.  
  
"Nat?" Nick's tremulous voice said. "Tracy's been ... she's ..."  
  
"Nick, what's happening? What's happened to Tracy?" she asked, concerned.   
Nick was prone to overreacting, but she'd never heard him this incoherent.  
  
"She was shot." Natalie heard him take a very ragged breath. "Abdomen and  
head. I'm at the hospital with her now. It was my fault, Nat! She saw me  
..."  
  
"I'll be there soon, Nick," she assured him. "I just have to finish up  
here."  
  
They said goodbye and Natalie hung up the phone. She collapsed in her  
chair and put her head in her hands. This night was horrible. First  
Laura, then Tracy ... what was next?   
  
Getting up, she pulled on another pair of latex gloves, then finished her  
autopsy of Laura. Less than an hour later, she was talking to the nurse's  
desk at Toronto Hospital, finding out the location of Tracy Vetter's room.   
She walked down the hall, but paused outside of the room. She could hear  
Captain Reese inside.  
  
"Nothing on this earth can rip you apart like that. Hell, Nick, you know  
that; you lost Schanke," she heard him say. "There is life after this,  
when you get through. Remember that. I'm here if you need help ... I've  
got to go."  
  
A few seconds later, the door opened and the captain came out. He saw  
Natalie and smiled grimly at her.  
  
"How are you holding up?" he asked her.  
  
"I'm ... OK," she said, then nodded to the room. "How's Tracy?"  
  
He sighed and shook his head. "Not so good. They've done all they can,  
but they don't expect her to make it until morning," he said. "I called  
her parents, but they're both out of town and don't think they can get here  
soon."  
  
"And Nick?" she asked.  
  
"He thinks it's his fault. After losing Schanke, I'm not sure he'll be  
able to handle this," the captain said. "I've got to go; the Shooting  
Review Board's chomping at the bit."  
  
As he walked heavily down the hall, Natalie pushed open the door and went  
inside. Nick was bent over the bed, too close for anything but ...  
  
"Nick!" she exclaimed.  
  
He turned slowly to face her, nearly growling. His face was that of a  
beast, golden-eyed and sharp-toothed.  
  
"If she dies it's my fault," he hissed.  
  
Natalie roughly grabbed his arm and pulled him away from Tracy. If she  
could hear, there was no reason for her to hear what Natalie was going to  
say to Nick.  
  
"How do you know that's what she wants?" Natalie demanded. Nick only  
looked defiant. "And why is it so easy to consider bringing her across and  
so impossible to consider bringing me?"  
  
Nick only stared at her for a moment, then walked past her out the door.   
Natalie considered going after him, but ... she was just too tired to deal  
with him tonight. Instead, she went over to Tracy's bed and picked up the  
metal clipboard there. Scanning the chart, she realized that the captain  
was right: Tracy wasn't going to make it.  
  
Natalie sat down in the chair next to the bed and picked up Tracy's hand.   
Then, giving in for the first time that night, she cried.  
  
*****  
  
When he left the hospital, Nick just got in his car and drove off without  
having any destination in mind. He just needed to get away, to think about  
what he had done. It *was* his fault, no matter what anyone tried to  
convince him. If Tracy had known that he was perfectly safe from guns, she  
would never have risked herself for him. Because he hadn't trusted her,  
his own partner, she was lying in a hospital bed. She had been right: he  
could have trusted her. She had never betrayed Vachon's trust; she  
wouldn't have betrayed his, either.  
  
Natalie was right, too. He didn't know what Tracy wanted. It wouldn't be  
fair to bring her into the darkness when he was trying so hard to escape.   
It was *her* choice.   
  
He turned off his police radio. He wasn't in the mood to hear about more  
suffering. Turning on the radio, he flipped to CERK. Instead of the  
Nightcrawler, there was a pop psychologist, telling listeners that the  
Nightcrawler was moving on. Was LaCroix leaving? Was his whole life going  
to change in one night?  
  
Coming out of his thoughts, he found himself at the Raven. He had been  
driving for over an hour. Sighing, he got out of the car. He always came  
to LaCroix, no matter how hard he tried not to. They had been getting  
along better lately, but he still didn't trust his vampire father.   
Reaching the door, he noticed a computer-printed sign that read "Closed  
until further notice." What was going on?  
  
He walked through the empty club toward LaCroix's private apartment. There  
was a forgotten, stale glass of blood on the bar, along with a bust of  
LaCroix. He never brings that out, Nick thought. What the *hell* was  
going on? He pushed open the door to the apartment and found the LaCroix  
closing his traveling trunk in an otherwise empty room.  
  
"Good evening, Nicholas," the elder vampire said, as if he had been  
expecting this visit.  
  
"You're leaving?" Nick asked.  
  
"It's time," LaCroix said smoothly. "For both of us. We have come full  
circle in this life."  
  
"LaCroix," Nick said, near tears, "I'm in trouble."  
  
"Yes, I know." He paused, then asked, "Your partner ... is she ...?"  
  
"No," he answered, then admitted the truth he had been avoiding, "But her  
chances aren't good."  
  
"Nicholas, don't you see?" The elder vampire said, almost sympathetically.  
"You've overstayed your welcome. The pain that you are causing your  
mortal friends is no longer acceptable to them. Those that do survive will  
not allow their relationship with you to continue in the way that it was.   
They will demand change, and you will be compromised." LaCroix looked  
stern. "One way or another."  
  
He was right, Nick knew. He had already seen it that night with Natalie,  
with her demands on his love. Tracy, if she did somehow survive, would  
never look at him the same way again. But he wasn't going to admit the  
truth to LaCroix. Besides, he couldn't just abandon his friends.  
  
"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't just leave," he said. "Too many loose  
ends to tie up."  
  
"I've seen you leave looser," LaCroix pointed out.  
  
"I can't just walk away!" Nick said. "Natalie needs me. I need to be  
there for Tracy."  
  
"Nicholas," LaCroix said sternly, "The time has *come*. I will be at your  
loft tonight for your decision, and then I'm leaving with or without you."  
  
"I ... I ... I just can't," Nick whispered. "It's my fault. I have to  
stay."  
  
LaCroix sighed.  
  
"Haven't you tired of this incessant guilt?" he asked. "Hasn't it swayed  
your back long enough and stooped your shoulders to the point of throwing  
it off? You insist on taking responsibility for the actions and emotions  
of others when they *alone* are truly responsible." He shook his head at  
Nick. "It is so foolish. It is so unnecessary. It's so mortal. And it  
must stop. This, and all else that has happened tonight should make that  
clear to you.   
  
"For all the things that we are, there is a price to be paid. Love may be  
tasted, but never savored. In our darkest moments," LaCroix said, sounding  
almost sympathetic, "we may envy mortality, but we should never aspire to  
it. Guilt is a poison and staying past our time is death.  
  
"But it *need* *not* *be*," the elder vampire insisted. "If we truly care  
for a mortal, truly love one, then we must go. Isn't that something that  
*you* taught *me*? Leaving is the purest form of love."  
  
Without a word, Nick turned and ran from the Raven. LaCroix was right.  
  
*****  
  
LaCroix shook his head as his son left. Nicholas was always running from  
the truth. The truth of his nature, the truth of the world, the truth of  
everything. He would rather live in misery and despair than take  
responsibility. He would rather slowly destroy the lives of those around  
him than make a decision.  
  
Well, then. LaCroix would make that decision for him.  
  
LaCroix moved into the bar and picked up the phone. After checking the  
phone book, he dialed the hospital. After being assured that Ms. Vetter  
was still indeed among the living, he dialed the other number he had looked  
up.  
  
*****  
  
Natalie had packed everything. It was time for her to move on. If she  
couldn't be with Nick, then she was leaving. Where, she didn't know, but  
somewhere. Maybe Vancouver; she had been there last summer for a  
conference and had loved it. Maybe the U.S.; she had been to New York and  
Detroit.  
  
It didn't matter really; she was just leaving. The resignation letter was  
on her desk and all of her personal documents were packed. All that was  
left was Laura's journal. It was the journal that had inspired this  
drastic reaction. Better to do this than to end up unhappy and dead like  
her friend.  
  
She read aloud the passage that, combined with some of LaCroix's words, had  
made up her mind.  
  
"Everyone's pain is my problem, but mine is mine alone. I have solutions  
for all, but none for myself. I have to stop and think, 'Where am I? What  
am I doing? I'm not coming, I'm going. I'm gone."  
  
She sighed and closed the book. The phone rang, and for the last time, she  
moved across the room to answer it.  
  
"Lambert."  
  
"Dr. Lambert, this is Lucien LaCroix," a silky voice said.  
  
Natalie sighed. She didn't want to play anymore games with this vampire.   
She was just so tired of it all. He had, though, given her some of the  
best advice on her life that she had ever gotten. In some way, she felt  
she owed him.  
  
"What can I do for you, LaCroix?" she asked, sitting down at her desk.  
  
"I'm sorry to tell you that I have just discovered that Detective Vetter  
... didn't make it," he said sadly. "She was a particular favorite of  
mine."  
  
"I ... I ... When?" she managed to ask.  
  
"Just moments ago. I had just phoned to check on her condition for  
Nicholas, and ..." he trailed off.  
  
Natalie was somewhat suspicious, but, well, she hadn't expected Tracy to  
make it. What was odd was that he was calling her instead of Nick. She  
asked him why.  
  
"I believe that he would take the news best, coming from you. Were I to  
tell him, he might believe that I had something to do with it," LaCroix  
pointed out.  
  
"Do you know where he is?" Natalie asked.  
  
"He just left here after we had a rather ... stormy ... chat. I believe  
that your faith in Nicholas may be misplaced, Dr. Lambert," he said,  
sounding sympathetic. "I *am* sorry."  
  
"What?" Natalie asked. "What did he say?"  
  
"I believe he has finally realized that the darkness he so tries to run  
from is a part of him. It can never be escaped. His faith has proved  
unfaithful," LaCroix said. "But, it is not my business, as I've been told  
time and again. I'm afraid I must go now. If you could be so kind as to  
inform Nicholas about his partner."  
  
He hung up without giving her a chance to say anything more. She slammed  
the phone down and stood up. She would tell Nick about Tracy in person,  
and then they would have their own chat. It was time for this to be over.  
  
*****  
  
LaCroix dropped the phone into the cradle and smiled. That should have  
primed the pump quite well. As much as he respected the good doctor, he  
was not above using her for his own purposes. He had no fear that she  
would now force a confrontation with his son.  
  
He had other things to take care of right now, however. His travel  
arrangements had been made: a private jet had been chartered and movers  
were coming to transport his belongings to the airport and storage. He  
pulled one last bottle from his cabinet and, popping the cork out, drank it  
all straight from the bottle. Crude, but he needed the strength. The  
sharing of blood with the young Spaniard had weakened him considerably ...  
and he still had one more important task this night.  
  
Heading out the back of the club, LaCroix launched himself into the sky,  
then touched down mere seconds later. His strength had truly returned.   
Entering the hospital, he stopped at the front desk.  
  
"Tracy Vetter's room number," he demanded of the woman seated there.  
  
She tapped some keys and then looked at her computer screen. She made a  
face, then looked at him.  
  
"It's family only," she told him.  
  
"I *am* family," he snarled. Or at least I soon will be, he added to  
himself.  
  
"Intensive care, room seven," she told him quickly.  
  
Eschewing the slow elevators, LaCroix flew up through the stairwell to the  
intensive care ward. He easily found Ms. Vetter's room and entered. A  
tall burly man was sitting next to her bed. He looked up when LaCroix  
entered.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" the man asked. "Get out of my daughter's room!"  
  
"Ah, Mr. Vetter. I have always wondered about young Tracy's parents."   
LaCroix silenced the mortal with a quick look. He then captured Mr.  
Vetter's mind. "You will sit quietly and not move until I allow it."  
  
Tracy's father slumped in the chair with a glazed look. Moving to the  
detective's side, LaCroix stroked the wisps of loose hair off her forehead.  
She was indeed a worthy mortal. Pushing her head to one side, he pulled  
away the dressing gown from her neck. He leaned down, and, after a pause  
to breathe in her heady scent, sank his fangs into her neck and drank.  
  
*****  
  
Nick pulled open the elevator door and walked slowly into his loft. As he  
did, Natalie stood up from a chair. She looked serious. Stopping, he  
looked at her silently. He just knew what she was going to say, but he  
refused to encourage her. She took a deep breath, then spoke.  
  
"Tracy Vetter passed away twenty minutes ago."  
  
Nick clutched the piano next to him, using it to hold himself up. He could  
feel tears welling up, but he closed his eyes.  
  
"It's my fault," he whispered hoarsely. "She's dead and it's my fault.  
  
He moved over to the window and looked out over the lake. He could hear  
Natalie move up behind him, but he didn't turn around.  
  
"LaCroix thinks I'm a fool for bearing this guilt," he continued bitterly.   
"Trying to somehow atone for what I've done. Maybe he's right. All it's  
ever done is cause pain and more death."  
  
"It's not true," Natalie said.  
  
"Tracy, Cohen, Schanke," he listed, "And how many others over the centuries  
because of what I am?"  
  
"And how many lives were you able to save because of what you are?" she  
asked. "You've *more* than made up for what you've done in the past."  
  
She didn't understand. There was no way he could ever atone for his sins,  
his life. LaCroix was right. He should never have even tried. His world  
here was crumbling and he would soon have nothing left. Better that he  
leave now. He turned from the window and walked past her to the fire she  
had lit.  
  
"It's not enough," he snarled. "It's never enough. I'm leaving.   
Tonight."  
  
"Not without me!" Natalie exclaimed.  
  
"I'm leaving because of you," he said nastily. "You don't want my love;  
it'll only destroy you."  
  
"There is a way. There is one cure that we haven't tried," she said  
desperately. "Janette became mortal by making love to Robert, taking just  
a little at a time."  
  
"It was a lot more complicated than that, Nat," he snapped.  
  
"I'm willing to take my chances," she asserted.  
  
"Well, I'm not." He thought of his lack of control when feeding on human  
blood. "What if I take too much? I'm not willing to live a life of  
eternal pain."  
  
"Is it any different than living a life of eternal regret?" she asked  
angrily. "It's partly my choice, too, Nick!"  
  
Natalie would never understand, he knew that now. She couldn't feel the  
darkness, the evil within him. She couldn't know how desirable the scent  
of her blood was right now, spiced by anger and a little bit of fear. With  
his long abstention from human blood, he would just drain her if he tried  
to bring her across. His love for her, his desire to know every corner of  
her thoughts, would never let him stop.  
  
*****  
  
LaCroix regretfully pulled back from the throat of his soon-to-be child.   
Her blood was sweeter than he had anticipated, calling for him to drink  
deeper than he ought. He wanted her forever, though, not just for a few  
hours. Pulling a linen handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the blood  
from his mouth, then concentrated on Tracy for a moment. Her heart still  
beat, though slowly. In a minute she would be at the correct point to be  
brought across.  
  
A chair scraped behind him and he stiffened. He had been so engrossed with  
his new daughter that he had let down his guard. Turning, he saw Tracy's  
father, bloodless, half on the floor. Standing over him was the beautiful  
blonde goddess Divia had managed to destroy.  
  
Urs.  
  
She hissed at him, throwing her near-white locks back from her eyes. Blood  
streamed down her chin and dripped on the floor, making the puddle there  
even larger.  
  
"I hate her!" Urs snarled. "I won't let you make her one of us."  
  
"This is not your concern, child," LaCroix hissed back, his eyes flaring  
gold. "Leave now and no harm will come to you."  
  
"I sent Dawkins to kill her. He wanted to. He didn't want to come back to  
me," she whispered, moving slowly toward LaCroix. "They never want to come  
back. Even though I make them so happy, they never want to come back.   
Vachon came back," she said smugly, then frowned. "But only to protect  
them. To protect *her*."  
  
Suddenly, Urs lunged, trying to get around LaCroix to the still form behind  
him. The older vampire shot out his arm and Urs hit it, snapping her neck.  
She slumped to the floor. LaCroix knew he had only minutes until she  
regenerated, and only seconds before Tracy must feed from him. He turned  
to the woman on the bed, nearly dead now, and pressed the call button to  
summon a nurse to serve for a first meal. Bottled blood would be fine  
later, but Tracy needed to to learn how to properly feed.  
  
Pushing up his sleeve, he ran his fingernail along his wrist, opening a  
long, bloody gash. He pried open Tracy's mouth and let the blood drip in.   
After several drips, he could sense a stirring within her. Just as he was  
about to reach out to her mind, a strong grip closed on his ankle and  
yanked him away.  
  
LaCroix landed atop Urs, and ripped her hand off his leg. He needed to  
return to Tracy or she would become maddened from the taste of blood.   
Kicking out, he pulled himself up and inelegantly thrust his wrist into  
Tracy's open mouth. Hungrily, she sucked at the wound, quickly drawing out  
the blood.  
  
Behind him, Urs snarled and he could hear her scramble up from the floor.   
She threw herself at Tracy, trying to pull LaCroix's arm out of her mouth.   
LaCroix backhanded her across the face with his free hand, but she only  
grew fiercer. Suddenly, she was pulled backwards with a furious scream.  
  
Turning, LaCroix saw Vachon, holding Urs in a bear hug, her teeth in his  
neck. In his hand, he held a long stake.   
  
"Please," the Spaniard whispered and held the stake out to LaCroix.  
  
Gently removing his arm from Tracy, LaCroix moved to take the stake from  
him. It was long enough to go through both vampires, something Vachon had  
no doubt intended. Before he could reach the stake, however, Tracy sprang  
from the bed and snatched it.  
  
"No!" she screamed, her new fangs bared.  
  
Tracy ripped Urs from Vachon's grip, and slammed the stake into Urs' chest.  
Urs looked down with astonishment, then slowly slid to the floor.  
  
*****  
  
As the vampire fell, a nurse opened the door and stood still in shock.   
Before she even realized it, Tracy was across the room. She pulled the  
woman into the room and the door fell shut behind her. With a snarl, Tracy  
sank her fangs into the terrified nurse's neck.  
  
Tracy could feel the woman's blood, memories, and emotions flowing into  
her. The nurse's fear made the blood -- already scented with cinnamon and  
wet grass -- even more wonderful. Tracy could feel the woman's joy at her  
marriage, her sadness at the death of her child, her terror at being fed  
upon, as if they were her own emotions. The heartbeat, even as it slowed,  
mesmerized her, calling out to her to take this woman's life into her, to  
know all there was to know of her.  
  
Then Tracy felt a tug on her arm. She snarled, not removing her teeth from  
the woman. The tug was repeated, reinforced by a mental "tug" as well.   
She pushed the woman away from her and, with a heavy thud, the dead nurse  
fell to the floor.  
  
"You may have more soon, but right now we *must* be going," LaCroix -- her  
new maker, she could feel -- said sternly. He turned to Vachon, who was  
slumped in a chair. "You will take care of Urs?"  
  
Vachon nodded numbly, his hand at his neck where the other vampire had bit  
him. It was then that she noticed the other body on the floor.  
  
"Dad!" she exclaimed, all of her new strength leaving her.  
  
She dropped to the floor and shook him, but she knew he was already dead.   
By the scent on him that her newly-enhanced senses detected, it had been  
the female vampire, Urs, who had done it. Well ... to be honest, though  
she loved him, she had never *liked* her father all that much. He had been  
a domineering social climber with a penchant for verbal abuse; it was  
probably as good an end as he deserved. It was a heartless thought, yes,  
but also true. She had always lied to herself about her family, had always  
believed that if only *she* had been better, then her family wouldn't have  
broken apart. She had lived in fear of her father for so long that she  
could never imagine that it might be his fault. Maybe it was being a  
vampire, or maybe it was just being so close to death, but it was time to  
be honest with herself. Her father had been a nasty person who manipulated  
everyone around him. There was no need to fear him now.  
  
She stood and faced LaCroix. Her police instincts came to the fore then.   
There were two dead bodies in her hospital room. That would cause serious  
questions to be asked. She now had an obligation to protect her fellow  
vampires from exposure.  
  
"What should we do with the bodies?" she asked him. "The lake?"  
  
"That practically teems with corpses," LaCroix answered, smiling at her.   
"I believe Vachon will take care of them as well?"  
  
"Yes," Vachon answered. "Tracy ... I ..."  
  
"No time," LaCroix snapped, and Tracy could feel the annoyance through a  
mental link.  
  
He reached up and pulled the bandage off of her head. Tracy put her hand  
to the back of her head, feeling the now small depression where the bullet  
had hit. They had shaved her hair around the spot, but she could feel it  
already growing back. It itched. LaCroix moved over to the vampire's body  
on the floor and pulled her leather jacket off, being very careful not to  
dislodge the stake. He handed it to her and she pulled it on.  
  
"Vachon, we need to talk," she said. "I have to tell you--"  
  
"We have no time!" LaCroix growled. "You know where we will be," he said  
to Vachon. "You may meet her there if you like, but you are *not* coming  
with us."  
  
With that, LaCroix grabbed Tracy's wrist and dragged her from the room.   
Before the door closed behind her, she saw Vachon drop his head into his  
hands.  
  
*****  
  
Natalie stared out of the window at the lake. She needed to make Nick  
understand. She wasn't going to let him leave without her; she needed to  
convince him that her belief in him wasn't "misplaced" as LaCroix said.   
That was it: faith. LaCroix had said that Nick's "faith had proved  
unfaithful." LaCroix knew Nick better than anyone, even better than Nick  
himself. And LaCroix had faith in Nick, she knew that, no matter what they  
both might protest.  
  
"Does LaCroix ever talk to you about faith?" she asked, her back still to  
Nick.  
  
"In what?" he asked, closer behind her than she had thought.  
  
"In yourself. In an after life. I don't know," she said, trying to find  
some answer that would speak to him. "In a greater being who loves us no  
matter who we are or what we do"  
  
"Faith is a *mortal* folly, Nat," he said disdainfully.  
  
"His words or yours?" She turned to face him. "Do you really believe  
that's true?"  
  
"I'm not sure," he replied hesitantly.  
  
"Well, I won't accept that the sum of our existence can be measure in the  
few short years that we're alive here. It would make everything that we  
believe meaningless. It would make our lives here meaningless. I know  
that's true and so do you," she insisted, not really knowing that, but  
knowing that *he* believed it. "You have faith, Nick," she said, smiling.   
"And if it's a mortal folly, then you're the most mortal man I've ever  
known."  
  
"You cannot deny what I am," he snapped.  
  
She almost had him, she could tell. She just had to keep going a little  
farther.  
  
"You can't deny what's in your heart," she whispered.  
  
"What are you saying?" he asked wondrously.  
  
She had convinced him. Nick would never leave her now, no matter what  
came. She may have been manipulating him, but she really did have faith in  
him. It wasn't wrong, no matter what LaCroix claimed.  
  
"I have faith that there is a future for us, here as we are or somewhere  
else." She raised her hands to stroke his face. "I *believe* in you. I  
*trust* you." She took a deep breath and said what she had wanted to say  
since almost the day she had met him. "Make love to me, Nick ... take just  
a little at a time."  
  
"I'm afraid of what might happen," Nick said, his voice choked.  
  
"Don't be afraid. I'm not afraid of death or of an eternity of darkness,  
as long as I can spend it with you," she said, and found it to be true.   
"All I have is faith and love. All I'm asking is for you to make love to  
me." She paused and saw a slight hesitation in his eyes. "I *trust* you,"  
she added, and his hesitation disappeared.  
  
Nick took her hands between his and looked down, resting his lips on her  
fingertips. A small shiver went through her when he looked up and his eyes  
were golden.  
  
"I won't leave you," he said tenderly, and Natalie could see his lengthened  
canines. "Whatever happens, we'll be together."  
  
"Forever," Natalie said firmly.  
  
Slowly, Nick leaned forward and kissed her gently. Then, he kissed the  
inside her wrist, and she felt him drag his canines across the tender skin  
there. When she gasped, he looked up with an animal glint in his eyes. He  
seemed to enjoy her rising fear. He entangled his fingers in her hair and  
pulled her head to one side.  
  
When her neck was exposed, Nick suddenly lunged forward and sank his fangs  
into her neck.  
  
*****  
  
It was more wonderful than he could ever have imagined. Natalie truly  
loved him and every drop of her blood suffused him with her warmth and  
tenderness. He felt the power he had over her and her emotions and her  
singular desire to be with him, forever. Her slight struggles against him  
made it all the more exciting. Despite what she had claimed, she was  
afraid, and that fear was a spice to the blood.  
  
He continued to drink from her, caught in the heady feel of love and power.  
He found himself kneeling on the floor above her, dragged down by her  
weight. He pulled back slowly and could feel nothing from her mind and  
almost all of her warmth was gone.  
  
"Well," LaCroix's voice said from behind him, "All that remains now is to  
turn out the lights and lock the door on the way out ... Unless you have  
decided to add her to our entourage. Oh, Nicholas," he said,  
disappointment evident in his voice, "You have thought this through,  
haven't you?"  
  
*****  
  
Tracy paced on the roof of Nick's loft where LaCroix had left her. She  
could feel confusion and sadness from below, from both her new master and  
from Nick. LaCroix had explained that Nick was his creation as well.   
Actually, LaCroix had called Nick his son, but Tracy wasn't sure she was  
ready to get that familial yet. LaCroix had explained that the best thing  
for her to do would be to go with him out of the country. Tracy was  
inclined to agree. There would be too many questions for her to answer if  
she stayed. Also, she needed someone to teach her about being a vampire.   
LaCroix was more than willing to be her teacher, she knew.  
  
She still wasn't sure how to react to being a vampire. She was a vampire.   
She was undead. She had killed someone, an innocent woman. She understood  
now, what Vachon and Screed had said about the first hunger. Without even  
thinking, she had taken that woman's blood; it warmed her skin right now.   
She knew that she should feel worse than she did, really, but it just  
seemed ... right.   
  
Like with her father. He had been a jerk to her and her mother for her  
whole life. Why shouldn't he feel what it was like to be the one who got  
used and tossed aside? She actually felt worse about the nurse than she  
did about her father. The nurse had been in the wrong place at the wrong  
time, but her memories would live on within Tracy. Her father had been  
sitting at her bedside, true, but that didn't make up for a lifetime of  
verbal abuse and domineering behavior.  
  
Tracy felt a breeze whip across her face and she whirled around. Vachon  
stood there, Urs' body in his arms.  
  
"She hated you," Vachon said softly. "She was jealous of you and your  
mortality and my ... attention to you." He lowered the body to the roof  
and crouched there. "She killed those women. Those ones you thought were  
suicides. I tried to stop her, to reason with her, but she was beyond  
that."  
  
"How ..." Tracy began.  
  
"Before I died, I was attacked. So was Urs. We were ... infected by  
something ... very evil." He looked up at her and Tracy could see how  
tired he was. "We didn't die. You, whoever took care of Urs, thought we  
did, but we didn't. I was locked inside my mind with these horrible  
voices. Urs must have been, too."  
  
He stopped then, and Tracy realized that this was the longest speech she'd  
ever heard him make. She moved over to him and laid her hand on his  
shoulder. Slowly, he reached in his pocket and pulled something out. His  
speech was going to be even longer, it appeared.  
  
"When I felt her wake up, I knew I had to do something. I had managed to  
fight off the voices, mostly, but Urs was so much younger than me. And she  
was my responsibility. I spent so long running from responsibility ..." he  
trailed off. After a long moment, he began again. "The evil had warped  
her. It had taken all of her insecurities and fears and turned them into  
something ... wrong. She got into mortals' minds and made them do horrible  
things and *love* it. The suicides were the lucky ones.  
  
"But she was really after you." He looked down at whatever was in his  
hands. "She wanted to hurt you. I kept her away as long as I could, but I  
wasn't ... sane ... either, not until LaCroix helped me. I broke into your  
apartment, one night, thinking that I would kill you before she could.   
That was the only thing that I could think of. I didn't want you to feel  
what she could have made you feel. But I saw this."   
  
He held up what was in his hand. It was the missing photo from her  
refrigerator, the corner of which she had found in the parking lot. Screed  
and Vachon grinned out at them.  
  
"It reminded me of who I was, or at least, had been. I couldn't kill you.   
I tried to warn you, but when I got near you, she could tell. And she was  
so angry ..." He turned his face up to her and she saw the red streaks of  
tears. "That man -- she sent him to kill you, but he was stronger than she  
thought. He just wanted to run away. But when Knight interfered, messed  
with his mind, she got back in ... I'm so sorry, Trace."  
  
"It's not your fault, Vachon," she said. "You did what you could."  
  
"No, I didn't. I could have done more. I could have killed her!" he  
said, collapsing onto the roof.  
  
Tracy knelt beside him and took one of his hands in hers. The skin was  
loose and thin. She looked into his eyes and saw the despair and  
exhaustion.  
  
"It's over now," she reassured him.  
  
"Not yet," he said firmly.  
  
"What do you mean, Vachon?" she asked.  
  
Something in the way he said that made her nervous. He had already said  
more, explained more, than she had ever heard. And she had never heard him  
sound so determined.  
  
"I have to make sure she stays dead. Make sure *I* stay dead. Oh, Trace,  
I'm so tired. I'm not me anymore. The voices are still there. LaCroix  
helped, but ..." He dropped his eyes down. "I can't. Not anymore."  
  
*****  
  
LaCroix stood behind his son. Nicholas kneeled over the body of the woman  
he loved. The older vampire began to feel panic and horror though their  
mental link.  
  
"I couldn't stop myself!" Nicholas cried. "I've taken too much."  
  
He may have, but it was not LaCroix's choice. It was Nicholas', and it was  
one he was going to have to make on his own. It was time for his son to  
learn responsibility.  
  
"There she lies at the brink, Nicholas. Her fate is in *your* hands," he  
pointed out. "Bring her across or let her die. You must decide."  
  
Nicholas did not answer for several moments, and LaCroix could feel his son  
bring his emotions under some control.  
  
"LaCroix, is it possible for a vampire to have faith?" Nicholas suddenly  
asked.  
  
"That's a strange question at this moment in time," LaCroix said, startled.  
  
"Have you ever had faith?" his son persisted. "In anything but yourself?"  
  
The voice in Vachon's blood had asked the same question of him. And it had  
also given him the answer: after his nearly two thousand years, the horrors  
that he had visited upon this earth made faith useless to him, no matter  
how attractive it might be. He paid for his sins without the balm of faith  
-- that was his punishment.  
  
"I've seen too much," he told his son, trying to keep the pain out of his  
voice.  
  
"Well then, maybe I haven't seen enough," Nicholas said softly.  
  
Damn this child! Why must he lust after the pain that mortality brought?!   
LaCroix had given his son everything -- he would give the ungrateful brat  
the moon if he could, and still he wanted disease and death. Hadn't  
Nicholas seen enough of *that*?  
  
"After nearly 800 years?" LaCroix snarled. "Nicholas, be done with her.   
Time heals all." He glanced out the window and saw the bare beginnings of  
the sunrise on the horizon. "We must move on. You cannot deny what you  
are."  
  
The younger vampire didn't reply, but after a few moments, he leaned down  
and kissed the near-dead Dr. Lambert.  
  
"I can't condemn her to this darkness," Nicholas whispered.  
  
"A wise decision," LaCroix replied.  
  
It was true. Natalie would never have been happy as a vampire, not like  
Tracy. It had been a difficult choice, and he was proud of his son.   
  
"We even have time for a burial, if you'd like," he added.  
  
Nicholas didn't answer, but stood and walked over to the fireplace.   
Picking up a shillelagh that LaCroix had bought for him nearly one hundred  
years ago, Nicholas turned to look at LaCroix.  
  
"She had faith in me, in what's beyond," his son said softly. "That we  
could have a life together. That this would be a beginning, not an end."   
He walked slowly back and knelt in front of LaCroix. "I have that faith,  
too."  
  
"Don't be foolish, Nicholas," LaCroix snapped. "Life is a gift, as sweet  
as the freshest peach, as precious as a gilded jewel. I have never been  
able to understand the logic of willfully surrendering such a treasure.   
What is there to gain? How dark can your existence be when compared to an  
eternal void?  
  
"Or do you have *faith* that there is something beyond?  
  
"What do you see from where you are? A bright light at the end of the  
tunnel? A ray of hope? A glimmer of something better? Or will it burn  
you like the morning sun? Are the sounds you hear the trumpeting of St.  
Peter's angels or the screams of Memnoch's tortured souls? You can't  
answer that, can you?" he mocked. "Because you will never know the answer  
until after the deed is done. And is your faith really that strong?"  
  
Nicholas was going to despise him now, for this. He could never forgive  
being mocked over the corpse of his beloved. But this was the only way  
LaCroix knew to get through his romantic notions. He might never win  
Nicholas back now.  
  
"And so," he continued, sadly, "In your eyes, I am the devil."  
  
"No," Nicholas replied, tears pooling in his eyes, "Not the devil,  
LaCroix."  
  
"What then?" LaCroix asked nervously.  
  
"You are my closest friend," Nicholas answered.  
  
Nicholas stood up and handed the shillelagh to LaCroix, then kneeled down  
again with his back to LaCroix and took Natalie's hand in his. LaCroix  
raised the shillelagh over his head.  
  
"Damn you, Nicholas!" he snarled and brought the heavy wooden stick around  
to smack his son in the temple. Nicholas flew into the couch next to him  
and crumpled to the floor. "If you wish to commit suicide, do it  
yourself!"  
  
LaCroix threw the shillelagh into the fire causing sparks to fly out and  
land on the rug. A few began to smolder as LaCroix pulled the younger  
vampire, stunned by the blow, to his feet. He dragged him across the room  
and pushed him up the stairs.  
  
"Pack!" he roared after him. "We are leaving!"  
  
Going back middle of the room, he knelt beside Dr. Lambert and listened  
closely. She was dead. No breathing, no pulse.  
  
"I apologize for Nicholas' behavior," he told the cooling corpse. "But it  
is better this way."  
  
He stood and yanked the shillelagh, now burning brightly, out of the  
fireplace. He turned as Nicholas stumbled down the stairs, a small black  
bag slung over his shoulder and a wooden box under the arm. As soon as he  
was at the bottom, LaCroix threw the burning brand under the stairs,  
instantly setting aflame the pots of oil paint stored there.  
  
LaCroix stalked over to his son and pulled him along as he sprang through  
the skylight.  
  
*****  
  
Tracy whirled around at the sound of breaking glass. LaCroix stood at the  
edge of the skylight, holding Nick by the scruff of his neck like a bad  
puppy. The ancient vampire strode over to them, his face contorted in  
fury.  
  
"Tracy?" Nick said, startled. "What -- ?"  
  
"I did what you could not," LaCroix snarled.  
  
"How horrible! Oh, Trace, I'm sorry!" Nick said.  
  
Tracy just stared at Nick and felt her own anger rise. He had risked her  
life countless times by not telling her that he was a vampire. How dare he  
pity her now, when her life felt as if it were truly beginning. She made a  
fist and faster than she ever thought she could, she punched him in the  
face.  
  
"Tracy!" LaCroix roared. "Control yourself," he added, but a small smile  
tugged at the corners of his mouth. "We have to leave now. I trust you  
have said your goodbyes?"  
  
Tracy turned to Vachon and tried to think of what to say. She was sad to  
leave him again, but ... at the same time, her life had just become so  
exciting that she, in a way, didn't need him anymore. Had she ever really  
been in love with him? Or had it just been the excitement and danger that  
he represented? She didn't know. In any case, he had been her friend, and  
she had mourned him already. She didn't want him to die, really, but she  
knew now that it wasn't her decision, either.  
  
"How?" she just asked him, holding out her hand to help him up.  
  
He smiled a small smile and took her hand, hauling himself to his feet.  
  
"I'll follow my maker into the sun." He nodded to the eastern sky and  
stood. "It won't be long now. Goodbye, Tracy."  
  
Then he turned his back and walked to the edge of the roof, facing east.  
  
"Goodbye, Javier," she whispered.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she turned back to face LaCroix and Nick. Nick was  
sullenly staring at the ground and LaCroix's hand was clamped on his arm.   
Tracy suppressed a smile; they definitely *looked* like father and son. It  
seemed she had just gone from one dysfunctional family to another.  
  
"Shall we?" she asked.  
  
*****  
  
LaCroix sat alone at the back of the plane as it taxied to the runway. The  
sun was just peeking over the horizon now, but still he left the window  
unshuttered. The sun hit the wall across from him, leaving him a small  
strip of darkness in which to sit.  
  
The Spaniard and Urs would be in flames by now, if not from the rising of  
the sun, then from the burning of the loft. An intense heat had been  
rising from the shattered skylight when they had left. The body of Dr.  
Lambert would be burned beyond determining the cause of death, and he would  
have assured Nicholas' safety once more.  
  
His son sat as far from him as was possible in the small jet. He was  
brooding right now and would be sullen for weeks. But, then he would get  
over it. It would begin slowly, maybe with a smile at a pretty girl on the  
street. Then he would make an unguarded statement about the past, a memory  
not filled with bitterness. Soon after, he would only remember these last  
six years in his darkest moments, when, like all of their kind, he yearned  
for the power to change his fate. Time would heal him, and Nicholas had an  
eternity to learn that.  
  
Tracy, only hours in the family, sat between Nicholas and LaCroix, in a  
tempering position. He could tell it was a position she knew well, the one  
who kept apart the warring factions, the one who sued for peace. She  
seemed content with her new existence, but the reality of it likely hadn't  
yet sunk in. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn't asleep. As he watched  
her across the plane, she opened her eyes and turned to look at him. After  
a moment, she smiled.  
  
Yes, it was going to work this time. He was convinced. As the plane began  
to leave the ground, LaCroix reached over and closed the shade. Sitting in  
the darkness, he smiled. The night, his family -- that was all he needed.  
  
*****   
  
The End  
  
  



End file.
